


Late

by seven77



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Captivity, Gen, Gore, Haircuts, Human Experimentation, Hurt Peter, Hypnotism, Non-Consensual Haircuts, Torture, non-consensual nudity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7304470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seven77/pseuds/seven77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Peter gets captured by Dr. Octopus, he doesn't expect anyone to rescue him. Because the danger of working alone is no one cares when you get in over your head and don't come back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> true to my title, I'm a bit late in posting this. I wrote it sometime after Age of Ultron came out and I meant to post it before Civil War came out and messed everything up, but I was dumb and lazy and I forgot. so this isn't the MCU Spider-Man and it's still the pre-Civil War Avengers and all that. anyway, enjoy.

“Grrrrck.”  Peter chokes. “Gggg.  Guuuch.”

Octavius loosens his mechanical arm’s grip around Peter’s neck for a moment.  “What was that?”

Peter coughs and struggles against the metal tentacles that are wrapped around him. They are gripping his arms and legs so tightly that he can’t move. “I said this is a crappy neck massage.”  Peter coughs again. “You’re going to be getting a very bad review on Yelp.”

Octavius slams Peter against the wall. “Pay attention, Spider-Man,” he says.

Peter groans as he’s pushed against the wall. His back is aching.  “I’m a little low on attention right now,” he replies.  “I can write you a check, but don’t cash it until the end of the week.”

With a menacing growl from the Doctor, Peter feels the tentacle around his neck twist and tighten again. “I’ve had enough of your glib!” he snarls. “Trying to be _clever_ does _not_ suit you.”

“Yeah?” Peter sputters, squirming in Doc Ock’s grip.  “Well, that bowlcut doesn’t suit _you_ , but you don’t hear me complaining about it.”

“Stop it!” Octavius yells, squeezing Peter tighter.  He’s mad now.  Peter can see sweat dripping down his forehead. “I have _defeated_ you.  You must _stop_ with the blase comments.  You are not fooling anyone.  You can struggle all you want, but I have you in my grip now.  You are _finished,_ Spider-Man,” he says.  “ _Finished_ interfering in my plans.   _Finished_ humiliating me.  I could kill you right now…”

Peter’s heart is pounding.  There’s a murderous glint in Doc Ock’s eyes.  This could be it for New York’s least tolerated superhero. Peter coughs again, but he can’t speak with the metal tentacle wrapped tightly around his neck.  He can’t believe he’s actually trying to make another joke.  Three full years of saving the city as Spider-Man and he’s going to go out with a literal whimper, trying to make one last crack at some supervillain’s modus operandi. Typical.

“But,” Octavius continues, grinning at Peter.  “I’m not going to kill you...not yet.  I have other plans for you first.” Octavius stops pushing him against the wall, which finally releases the crushing pressure on Peter.  But the tension builds inside him as Octavius wheels around, swinging his arms, and Peter with him. Octavius starts walking over to the other side of the lab, dragging Peter along.  Peter grunts.   _I have plans for you_ is not the kind of thing he likes to hear.  He might actually rather the supervillain just kill him quickly and get it over with.

“Do those plans happen to involve reservations for brunch?”  he manages to quip.  “I hope you remembered I don’t eat pork or shellfish.”

“Shut up!” Octavius growls, slamming Peter down onto the lab table. “You pathetic little arachnid. Spewing nonsense to taunt me.  Taunting _me,_ when it is I who has _you_ exactly where I want you this time. I have finally taken you down, Spider-Man, yet you continue to act as brash as ever.  You’ve always been an impetuous, cocksure punk.  Doing and saying whatever you wanted because no one could stop you.  Well, I have stopped you. “  Octavius grins.  “I think it’s time to take you down a peg.”

Peter coughs again, the wind having been knocked out of him from being slammed onto the metal table.  “So that’s a no to the brunch?” he says, wheezing slightly, not wishing to pose the question of exactly what Octavius is going to try to do to him.  He has the feeling he doesn’t want to find out.

“You can keep trying to distract me, Spider-Man,” Octavius says, continuing to hold Peter against the table with his mechanical arms.  “It’s not going to work.  A keen intellectual mind like mine cannot be so easily distracted.  Not when there is such a fascinating scientific question posed before me.”

“Let me guess,” says Peter.  “You’re still trying to work out the chicken or the egg thing.”  

“You see,” Octavius continues, ignoring him. “I have always found what you are to be very interesting. I don’t think there is anything else quite like you, Spider-Man, and--”

“Aw, shucks,” Peter interrupts.

Octavius glares at him for a moment, and then continues.  “And I want to know how you work.”  Peter swallows, not liking at all the way Octavius is looking at him. “ _You_ are the scientific question at hand.”

“At hand?” Peter repeats, glancing at the metal arms wrapped around him, clutching his wrists and ankles in their metal grips.  “Was that a pun?”

“No,” says Octavius, looking disgusted by the very idea of wordplay humor. “Now, don’t move,” he says, twisting around slightly to pick up what looks like a remote in one of his real hands. He maneuvers the arm that is clutching Peter’s right wrist, unwrapping it from around Peter’s waist to drag Peter’s hand over to the right side of the table, forcing it into one of the metal cuffs on the table.  With a press of the button on the remote, the cuff snaps shut around Peter’s wrist, holding it in place on the table.

Peter’s eyes widen at that, while Octavius looks satisfied.  Peter begins to squirm and struggle harder,  really not wanting to be restrained to a lab table, but Octavius keeps his tight grip on the superhero, handling him roughly with his metal tentacles to force Peter into the position he wants him in.  He yanks each of his remaining limbs to the metal cuffs at the edges of the table and locks them in place.  The cuffs close tightly around Peter’s wrist and ankles so he can’t move his arms or his legs no matter how much he tries.

“There,” says Octavius, looking highly pleased with himself, recoiling his metal arms to be closer to his body as he surveys his work. “Pinned down like an insect on a card.”

Ughhh.  This is not good. Peter struggles, feeling like he’s gonna be sick. “I’m not an insect, genius,” he manages to say sarcastically.

“No, you’re an arachnid,” Octavius agrees, walking over to a storage closet. “It was a metaphor, genius,” he adds with even more sarcasm, apparently snorting at the idea of calling Spider-Man a genius. Peter turns his head to watch the supervillain open the storage closet.  

“What are you doing?”

“Just preparing for the procedures,” Octavius answers.  Peter raises his eyebrows under his mask as he watches the Doctor put on a white lab coat and latex gloves, looking like he’s getting ready for some serious mad science. Oh god, what has Peter gotten himself into?  He’s in the underwater lab of a crazy octopus-themed supervillain who hates him and now wants to _study_ him like...well, like the genetic freak that he is. And worst of all, he’s going to miss his O-Chem class for this.

“The first procedure…” Octavius continues, walking back over to the lab table where Peter is sprawled out.  “Will be to remove the specimen’s mask.”  Peter must have made a sound of alarm at that statement, because Octavius simpers. “Yes, that’s right, Spider-Man.  You are no longer a superhero, but my specimen.  And specimens don’t need masks.”  He wiggles the fingers of his latex covered hands as he looks down at Peter struggling on the table. “It’s time to find out whether Spider-Man is more spider or man.”

“N-no, I don’t think so,” says Peter, his voice breaking as his tries to move his head away from the Doctor’s reaching hand.  “Not according to my watch.  I’ve got half past ten...” His heart drums as he’s helpless to stop Octavius from gripping the fabric of his mask in his hand and starting to tug it off of Peter’s head. “H--hey, d--don’t--” Peter starts to say, but Octavius is already slipping the mask off of his face.

Peter winces as Doc Ock’s beady little eyes fall upon his face.  The supervillain’s expression goes from confident to slightly confused as he looks at Peter. He glances at the mask in his hand, then back at Peter, as if he’s checking to make sure he pulled the mask off of the right person.

Peter glowers at him.  “It’s not polite to stare.”

“How old are you?” Octavius asks him finally.

“Shut up,” Peter tells him, his face reddening slightly.

“You’re just a kid,” Octavius continues.

“Shut up,” Peter repeats, more forcefully.

“No wonder you are so insolent and immature,” Octavius muses. Peter groans. “But I did not expect Spider-Man to be secretly Spider- _Boy_.”

Peter huffs. “I’m eighteen,” he informs Octavius. That’s a _man_ by most people’s measure.

“You do not look eighteen,” Octavius says.  “Do you age normally?” Peter doesn’t answer that. “And furthermore,” Octavius continues. “I first encountered you and your insolence over three years ago. Had I known I had been fighting a _fifteen_ year old, I would have--”

“You would have what?” Peter asks.  “Gone easy on me?”

“Called child services, maybe,” Octavius finishes. “Do your parents know what you’re up to?” Peter doesn’t answer that either. “Very interesting,” says Octavius, seeming to have gotten over being surprised and gone back to fascinated. Peter still doesn’t like the way the Doctor is staring at him.  

“Can I have my mask back?” he asks.  “You don’t see me taking _your_ things without asking.” Although it’s not like he can undo the damage Octavius did by unmasking him. Octavius _unmasked_ him.  Peter got himself captured and got his mask pulled off by one of his worst enemies.  This kind of thing definitely never happens to Thor.

“This is mine now,” says Octavius, looking once more at the mask in his hands before setting it down on the table beside him. “And removing the mask was only step one of the experiments I have planned.  Whether you are an adolescent specimen or not, you are still a very interesting specimen that I will delight in taking the chance to study very carefully. I will find out exactly how such a weird thing like you works.”

“You know, I’m flattered,” says Peter sarcastically.  “But really, I’m just like anyone else.  I put my red and blue tights on one leg at a time just like everyone--”

“Ah, but first,” says Octavius, interrupting him. “I’ve got to do something to silence this impertinent chatterbox.  I can barely hear myself think.”

“You’re one to talk, Ockypuss,” Peter replies, as Octavius moves to the other side of the lab to retrieve something.  “You think I wanna hear your soliloquies about how you’re going to dissect me for science?  Who died and made you Hamlet?  Well, I guess it was Hamlet, wasn’t it?  But seriously, some of us are trying to plan escape routes here, and all that evil monologuing isn’t helping.  You know--”

Peter is interrupted by Doc Ock’s gloved fingers forcing his mouth open and inserting in a rubber gag. Peter chokes on the rubber, struggling, but Octavius grabs his head roughly in his mechanical arms, keeping him still. Another metal tentacle wheedles its way into Peter’s mouth, and Peter tastes the metallic flavor of titanium steel as it props his mouth open so Octavius can shove the gag firmly into Peter’s mouth and secure it around his head with a rubber strap.

“There we go,” says Octavius, once Peter has been properly gagged, pulling his arms back away from the boy. “Nice and silent.”  Peter fumes, groaning loudly around the gag, but he can’t talk.  Octavius smirks at him. “You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that,” he says.  “You need to learn to shut up.” Peter can only grunt angrily in response.

“Now,” Octavius continues.  “I can move on with the procedures uninterrupted by your idiotic chatter.” He walks slightly over and wheels a cart of shiny metal tools closer to the lab table.  Peter pales, eyeing them. This is, for the last time, very not good. Octavius picks up a pair of sharp metal scissors. “The next procedure…” he says. “Will be to remove the specimen’s...odd choice of clothing.”

Peter’s eyes go wide, because first of all, this dude is wearing a metal harness with four snaking mechanical arms on it and he’s calling _Peter’s_ clothes odd.  And second of all, there’s no way in hell that Doc Ock’s going to _strip_ him. Then his eyes fall on the scissors in the supervillain’s hand and he realizes stripping Peter’s clothes off isn’t what the scientist is planning. Peter struggles in his restraints as Octavius grabs hold of the front of Peter’s suit, the scissors clutched in his hand.

“Hold still,” says Octavius, looking very serious and clinical as he prepares to cut the teenage superhero’s costume off. Peter doesn’t have much choice in the matter.  He’s strapped to the frickin lab table, and he can’t even yell at Octavius to stop because of the gag. All he can do is glare at Octavius as he slowly begins to cut open the front of the shirt of Peter’s suit. He carves an opening in the spandex fabric down Peter’s front and pulls the shirt open with his gloved fingers. Peter cringes as the cold air of the underwater lab hits the now bare flesh of his chest and stomach. He cringes again because this suit took _so_ long to sew and of course Doc Ock comes along and undoes all that hard work with one fell swoop of his scissors. He cringes because it was not in his plans for today to be disrobed by an evil scientist.

Octavius is now snipping the fabric of Peter’s sleeve. He cuts a line down each sleeve from the shoulder to the tips of Peter’s gloves, going about this very methodically. When the whole thing has been cut, Octavius pulls the entire shirt out from under Peter. Peter stares at the tattered remains of his costume in Doc Ock’s grip, almost whining as the villain drops the thing into a wastebasket without a care. Peter then feels Octavius starting to cut off his pants and groans, setting his head back against the lab table. This is humiliating.

Doc Ock cuts off and pulls Peter’s spandex pants away, yanking them from underneath his bare butt, leaving him naked as the day he was born on the lab table.  With the exception of the metal cuffs and rubber gag. Octavius inspects him for a moment afterward and Peter groans, squeezing his eyes shut. Great, he’s been denuded by Otto Octavius. It can’t get any worse than this, can it?

“Hmm,” says Octavius, staring down at the teenager.  He turns on a light fixture hanging over the lab table to shine a bright light down on Peter in all his nakedness. Peter’s face feels very red and hot. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so embarrassed in all his life.  “Interesting,” Octavius continues.

Peering down at Peter’s arm, he takes it in his hands to get a closer look.  Peter fights against his grip, trying to pull his arm away, though he can’t move it much thanks to the metal cuff that’s tightly gripping it.  Octavius snakes one of his mechanical arms up and grabs his arm, digging into his skin and he holds it in place so the Doctor can inspect it. “Interesting,” he says again.  Peter wishes he would learn a new word.

“This is where those annoying webs come out of, I gather,” Octavius notes to himself, peering at the small hole on Peter’s wrist. “The spinneret, if I have my arachnid anatomy correct.” Peter grimaces as the scientist probes his spinneret with his latex covered fingers.  That does not feel good. It feels like someone sticking their fingers in your butthole.  In a bad way. It feels like a place fingers are not supposed to go in. And imagine someone hmm-ing and aha-ing scientifically to themselves while they poke your butthole experimentally. Yeah. Exactly.

“Were you born with this?” Octavius questions as he continues to prod Peter’s spinneret with his fingers. He glances at Peter, who glares at him.  Octavius chuckles to himself, taking note of the gag in Peter’s mouth. “Oh right, you can’t answer that.” His hands grip Peter’s hand next, straightening it out with his fingers.  “Hmm,” he says again, his fingers pressing on Peter’s hand until a bit of webbing sprays out of Peter’s wrist.  Peter sighs, feeling the warm webs squirt out onto his hand.  “Fascinating,” says Octavius delightedly. “There seems to be some kind of pressure point at the base of the subject’s hand that activates the spinneret.”

And like a little kid who just learned how to use his new toy, Octavius proceeds to press down again with his fingers, forcing Peter to squirt out more webbing.  Octavius chuckles again. He then hums to himself, picking up a metal tweezers from the cart next to him. He makes Peter shoot more webbing from his wrist, picking up the end of the strands in the tweezers and pulls out a long string of webs, holding it in between the ends of the tweezers and examining it, before dropping it into a plastic bag and then repeating the process.  After collecting a sizable sample of Peter’s webs, Octavius sets it aside, returning the tweezer to the cart with the rest of the metal instruments. Peter feels entirely like a naked web-dispenser.  Octavius is effectively _milking_ him. Ugh.

“Now,” says Octavius, going back to probing Peter’s arm with his fingers.  “If the spinneret is here…”  He moves his fingers a bit further up Peter’s forearm.  “Then it follows that the silk gland must be here.”  With a quick and abrupt shake from his spider-sense, Peter feels a sudden pinch in his arm and it’s too late by the time he realizes Octavius is holding a scalpel. Peter flinches, trying to yank his arm away as Octavius slices the skin of his arm. Peter’s cry of pain is muffled by the gag in his mouth, and his efforts to pull away are rendered useless by the restaints pinning him to the lab table.  Octavius just smiles to himself as he carefully cuts into Peter’s arm with the scalpel.  Peter’s heart beats fast, feeling the warmth and wetness of blood dripping down his arm.  This guy seriously just started dissecting him!  Just like that!

Peter kicks and struggles but there’s nothing he can do against the strong metal of the cuffs holding him down on the table. Octavius holds Peter’s arm steady in his mechanical arm , also gripping it with his hand, while the other hand slices through the skin and flesh of Peter’s forearm.  Peter feels every single movement of that blade in his arm.  He feels more blood gushing out.  He feels the moisture of the tears in his eyes run down his face.

The lab seems to be starting to swim around him.  Either there’s a leak somewhere and the underwater lab is filling with water, or he’s getting dizzy from the blood loss.  The light above him is haloed in a glaring orb of brightness.  Though it’s getting dimmer.  Everything is getting dimmer.  And somewhere along the lines he blacks out.


	2. Chapter 2

_ “Jesus freaks out in the street, handing tickets out for God.  Turning back she just laughs. The boulevard is not that bad…” _

Peter slowly stirs awake.  The first thing that catches his attention is a wave a pain, all over his body, which cruelly reminds him of where he is. Still trapped in Doc Ock’s underwater lab as his newest crazy science experiment.  The second thing that catches his attention is music softly playing in the background. 

_ “Hold me closer, tiny dancer.  Count the headlights on the highway.  Lay me down in sheets of linen.  You had a busy day today.”  _

Uh... Is Otto seriously listening to Elton John while he plays surgeon with Peter’s body? That is incredibly disturbing.  He opens his eyes, cringing at the sudden bright light that is still shining down on him.  He squints, turning his head to the side and blanches when he gets a look at his left arm.  

The skin and flesh of his forearm is filleted, pinned open with metal pins.  Webbing is spilling out of the gash in his arm in great globs, the white unspun fibers stained with blood. Well, congratulations to Octavius for finding his silk gland.  Now Peter’s arm looks like something out of a horror film. 

But it’s not just that. There are several needles and tubes poking out of Peter in various places.  There’s at least three alone in Peter’s right arm, although at least that arm hasn’t been sliced open. There are needles and sensors are taped in place all over him.  There’s a tube coming out of his chest as well, the area around it red and bruised, and there’s even a tube coming out of his urethra, which Peter doesn’t want to think about entering him...and oh god, what has Doc Ock done to him???

_ “Hold me closer tiny dancer…”   _ the music keeps playing softly. Peter feels like he’s going to be sick. He gags, acutely aware of the rubber muzzle still in his mouth. If he throws up, he’s going to choke on it. 

Luckily, or perhaps  _ un _ luckily, depending on your viewpoint of it, all of Peter’s gagging alerts Octavius to his science experiment’s conscious state. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” Octavius says, walking over to the table where Peter is laid out. He grins, surveying his work.  “Like what I’ve done with you?” Peter gags again, nauseated. Octavius just leers down at him.  “You don’t look so good, Spider-Boy,” he says.  “You’re not going to  _ faint _ again, are you?” 

Peter groans at him, breathing through his nose to try to settle his stomach. He doesn’t think he could lose consciousness at this point if he wanted to.  His spider-sense is screaming at him, now no longer a tingle, but a jarring pins and needles sensation that makes him twitch constantly. It’s shouting  _ danger danger danger _ in his ears.  And yeah, there’s tubes coming out of him and his arm is inside out. The danger is pretty clear. But thanks, spider-sense.

Octavius ignores Peter’s complaint and walks over to the computer near the lab table.  Peter can’t see what’s on the screen, but he can hear it recording his heartrate, so he’s guessing the computer is probably supplying readouts of his vitals and status. Octavius types something in and examines the data for a moment.  

“I must say, your physiology is fascinating,” he says. “You’re not simply a human with the abilities of a spider, and you don’t carry the mutant gene either.  Your genetic code simply carries arachnid DNA, which changes your entire physiology. Fascinating.” He glances at Peter, who glares at him, not at all enjoying this speech about how  _ inhuman _ he is. “I must know,” Octavius continues.  “What made you like this?” Peter grunts at him, and Octavius chuckles. “Oh, fine,” he says, and walks over to remove the rubber gag. Peter breathes out through his mouth, still tasting rubber on his tongue after the gag is removed.  

“You weren’t born like this, were you?” Octavius asks him.  “Although I’m quite sure your offspring would retain your abilities, based on the sample of semen that I--ah,” Octavius grimaces as Peter heaves and retches and spits out of a mouthful of vomit. It runs down his chin, dripping hot and wet onto his bare chest As his arms are still pinned to the table, there’s nothing he can do but spit it out onto himself.  “Well, that  _ was _ to be expected,” Octavius says, watching Peter, but doing nothing to clean up the vomit. 

Peter coughs. The taste in his mouth is now acidic and sour, burning his throat. He still feels nauseated, and he groans.  “What’d you do to me, Doc?” Peter chokes out. 

“Oh, quit whining,” says Octavius.  “Everything I’ve done to you is in the name of science.” 

Peter almost laughs at that. “Yeah, I don’t buy that, Ockypuss.  Not for one second.  You can call this science, but the fine print most definitely reads _ retribution. _ ”

“Well...perhaps,” Octavius admits. “But I can do both, can’t I?  I can pick you apart  _ and _ study the pieces."

“Ah, multitasking,” says Peter sarcastically.  “What talent.  Give the man a hand, ladies and gentlemen.”

“Shut up,” Octavius growls at Peter. “I want to know the source of your power.” 

“I use the Force,” Peter snaps back at him. 

Octavius groans.  “Forget it,” he says.  “I will retrieve all the answers I need through the scientific method.”  He then goes about sticking yet another needle in Peter and taking a blood sample.  Peter has an acute sense that this isn’t the first sample of his blood the Doctor has collected from him. He was already feeling lightheaded before Octavius went ahead and started to fill a pint-sized bag with his blood. 

“Enough free samples, Doc,” Peter says, moaning slightly.  “You have to save some for the other customers.”

“Enough of  _ you _ ,” says Octavius sharply, grabbing hold of Peter’s face in his gloved hand. 

“Ugh,” says Peter, grimacing.  “Your hands smells like mayonnaise.”

“Incredible,” Octavius says, an ugly expression on his face.  “Here you are, a pathetic arachnid freak pinned to my lab table, yet you continue to make your cocky little comments.  Do you  _ ever  _ cease?  You are just  _ insufferable. _ ” The supervillain squeezes Peter’s cheeks harder with his fingers. “What must I do to you, you impertinent little adolescent, to get it through your mind that you have  _ lost _ ?  That you have been  _ defeated? _ ”

“Uh, do a victory dance?” Peter suggests as Octavius lets go of his face. “Little bit of running man, little bit of cabbage patch, maybe freestyle it a bit?” 

“ENOUGH!” Octavius repeats, screeching angrily. He turns away from Peter, looking at the bag of the superhero’s blood he is collecting. 

Peter’s honestly under zero impressions that he has not been defeated.  It doesn’t really get any more defeated than strapped down to a lab table, naked, bleeding, full of tubes and wires and feeling like crap from all the shit that’s been done to you. It’s not because he’s prideful or anything that he’s running his mouth off...he doesn’t have enough dignity left for that. But he can’t stop himself from opening his mouth and saying stupid things. Nervous habit. 

Octavius returns to his side, smirking once again, and again holding the metal scissors in his hand. “I need to collect another sample,” he announces. He opens and closes the scissors. “A closer look at the elements in your hair may prove informative.” 

Peter’s eyes go wide.  “Oh, no,” he says.  “You are  _ not _ touching my hair.”

“Hold still,” says Octavius, reaching a hand toward Peter’s head. 

“No, no, no,” says Peter, craning his head away from Octavius.  “I am not here for Doctor Octopus’ beauty salon. I don’t  _ want _ a bowlcut.” 

Octavius growls, snaking up a mechanical arm to grab Peter’s head roughly, while his hand grabs a fistful of Peter’s hair.  “I don’t  _ care _ what you want, arachnid,” he spits at Peter. “You have humiliated  _ me _ enough times.  I will shave you bald if I want to.”  He chuckles to himself. “Besides, I don’t believe you have any footing to make fun of  _ my _ hairstyle.  I now see why you wore that silly mask.  Your hair looks like the wrong end of a mop.”  He brings up the scissors to Peter’s hair, chopping off a sizable amount off the top.  Peter sputters, feeling violated and wholly  _ humiliated  _ now. 

Octavius is sneering at him and he releases his metal tentacle’s grip on Peter’s face, shoving Peter’s head to the side as he does. Peter’s face is feeling red again. He can’t see how much hair Doc Ock took off, but he knows the supervillain is definitely walking away with whatever was left of Peter’s dignity. 

Peter lays there for a few minutes, seething at his current situation, at which point the bag that has been draining his blood becomes full and Octavius collects it, yanking the needle out of Peter’s arm. Peter flinches at the sharp pain, and moans, very lightheaded and dizzy now.  He hopes Octavius isn’t planning on taking anymore of his blood at the moment.  With the samples he has already taken, and the blood draining out of the gaping wound in Peter’s arm, he thinks he needs all the rest of his blood inside his body right now to keep it functioning. 

Of course, Peter might die soon anyway.  If Octavius gets bored of torturing him, or if Peter says something stupid enough that makes Octavius angry enough to just do away with Peter already. Perhaps dying quickly would be better than being trapped here as Doc Ock’s lab rat anyway. It’s not like anyone is going to come rescue him. That’s the danger of working alone.  No one cares when you get in over your head (literally, since he’s trapped in an underwater lab) and don’t come back. This would probably never happen to one of the Avengers. Peter’s pretty sure when any Avenger goes missing for over an hour, it incites citywide panic. 

Then again, Peter doesn’t think he would want to be on that tight of a leash. And he doesn’t do the superhero thing for the glory or the fame. He does it to help people, because it’s the right thing to do. When the good people of New York finally realize he’s gone, the Daily Bugle will probably throw a party. And that’s just the way it is. 

And no one will ever have to know Spider-Man bit the dust on Doctor Octopus’ lab table being picked apart and studied like the freak that he is. Peter closes his eyes, feeling himself starting to drift off, and he blacks out again.  

He wakes up abruptly when he is suddenly sprayed in the face by something. Peter sputters, coughing, opening his eyes to see Octavius standing over him holding a spray bottle. 

“What the hell?” Peter chokes out.  It smells like antiseptic. 

“I’m cleaning you,” says Octavius simply, spraying him again. 

Peter gags, getting a faceful of antiseptic.  “S-stop!  Stop it!” 

“Oh, be quiet,” Octavius tells him, continuing to spray Peter.  Peter cringes, shutting his eyes. The liquid spraying him is cold and smells horrible.  

“ _ Why? _ ” Peter coughs. 

“The procedure calls for it,” Octavius replies, spraying Peter all over. He sprays Peter in the face again and Peter chokes on the chemicals, getting it in his mouth. It’s probably not super poisonous, especially to him, but it still tastes terrible.

Peter coughs again.  “Tell the procedure it has the wrong number,” he quips, spitting the disinfectant in his mouth at Octavius. 

Octavius screeches...and yeah, that was probably a mistake. “You impertinent little child!” he shrieks at Peter, grabbing Peter’s head with his metal arms, clutching it in his mechanical grip and shoving the rubber gag back in Peter’s mouth, securing it roughly around Peter’s head.  Octavius then sighs, pulling away and taking a step back. He breathes out once, then points the spray bottle at Peter’s face again and sprays him.  “Bad arachnid,” he says, as if scolding a naughty puppy. Peter flinches as the spray hits his face and groans.  Well, at least it won’t get in his mouth again with the gag in the way. 

Octavius continues to methodically spray Peter until the teenager is soaked with the disinfectant and his body itches all over from the shower of chemicals. The smell of it is burning Peter’s nose, but he’s more worried right now about what Octavius is going to do to him. 

Octavius circles the table, going around to Peter’s right side. “I want to study your skin,” he says.  “How exactly do you stick to things?”  He takes Peter’s hand in his gloved hands, peering at it.  “You don’t seem to have any discernable scopulae…” Peter can’t talk at the moment, but Octavius had asked him how he sticks to things, so he demonstrates by sticking to Doc Ock’s hand. 

There’s a loud shout from the supervillain when he tries to drop Peter’s hand and realizes he’s unable.  “Let go!” he yells.  Peter is about to, but then Octavius simply pulls his hand out of the latex glove, leaving it hanging to Peter’s hand.  Octavius glances down.  “Fascinating,” he says, giving the glove an experimental tug.  Ugh. Peter’s not here to perform party tricks for the scientist’s pleasure.  He immediately drops the glove.  “Very interesting,” Octavius continues, watching the glove drop, then walks over to get another glove and pulls it on, snapping the latex into place. 

He picks up a tweezers and goes back over stoop over Peter’s right hand, studying it.  Peter winces as he pokes and prods his hand with the tweezers and squeezes Peter’s skin in the tweezers a few times.  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Octavius mutters.  “I must get a sample.” Peter’s heart starts beating faster and he grunts in protest.  A sample of  _ what? _ Octavius picks up the scalpel again and Peter’s spider-sense screams and him just before Octavius starts cutting off some of the skin on his hand. 

Peter’s desperate cry of pain is muffled by the gag in his mouth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I just wanted to say thank you guys for all the comments!!! They really keep me motivated!!! I hope you enjoyed this second chapter of Peter's torment... Next chapter: the Avengers!!!!!!!


	3. Chapter 3

Peter wakes up to a loud bang. It doesn’t startle him awake, just sort of rouses him, nudges him toward awareness.  Another bang. It sounds like something is exploding, but he’s not conscious enough to care at this point. He sort of drifts.  Being awake means accepting that he’s in a very serious amount of pain and discomfort and it’s so much more cozy inside his mind. He hears the sound of rushing water.  Is he pissing himself?  No.  The underwater lab is just starting to fill with water.  That’s fine. He goes back to sleep.

Another bang and a loud crash wakes him up who knows how long later.  Another bang and Peter finally has to accept that he’s awake and this is happening. Shuddering from the sharp pains all over his body, Peter grunts around the gag in his mouth, opening his eyes. The lab is destroyed.  Things have been thrown around, tables upturned, lab equipment everywhere.  There’s about half a foot of water already in the lab, and it’s slowly rising.  Either Otto is throwing a hissy fit or…

“Good work, team,” Peter hears a voice saying.  “Sam, Rhodey, you get Mr. Octavius out of here, take him upstairs and fly him up to the helicarrier.  Natasha, Wanda, Vision, you’re with me.  We’re gonna check out the lab, make sure there isn’t anyone else in here.”

Oh, _great._ Peter feels like someone dropped a weight on his chest.  It’s the Avengers.

There’s a spattering of, “You got it, Cap,” and “Let’s go,” from Steve Rogers’ teammates, while Peter squirms, trying to make one last ditch attempt to escape the restraints on the lab table, before Earth’s Mightiest Heroes see him like this. But if Peter couldn’t escape the thousand other times he tried, he certainly can’t escape now, when all his energy has been completely drained by Doc Ock’s experiments.

Peter strains against the metal shackles, but he really needs to be completely honest with himself and admit that he can barely move. Octavius has really done a number on him.  Peter’s stomach turns as he gets another glance at his arm with the skin and flesh still pinned open for the world to see and his mutilated silk gland overflowing with webbing.  The hand of his other arm has been skinned.  It’s now just a mess of bloody flesh. There’s no way he’s breaking these restraints.    

Even if he could break them, he’d never make it out of here.  He’s strapped into all the equipment from the shit Octavius has been doing to him; there’s needles and tubes going in and out of him and all kinds of electrodes and sensors taped to him.  He’s a mess, and the Avengers are coming.

It really just figures they’d come _now._ Where were these numbskulls a couple days ago when Octavius was threatening to blow up the city? Why weren’t _they_ here to stop him?  Why did Peter have to do it himself?  Where were the Avengers when Octavius strapped him down to this table in the first place?  Where were they when that mad man was cutting him open and torturing him?

They’re _too late_ now.  And Peter would really just rather they’d leave him alone so he can die in peace. But no. They’re coming. Peter can hear them splashing down the tunnel to the lab.

“Sheesh,” Peter hears a female voice say, stopping in the doorway. It sounds like Black Widow. “I don’t think there’s anyone else down here, Cap. Octavius seemed like the kind of guy who works alone.  Besides, I don’t think he’d be a very good roommate.  This place is a mess.”

“Well,” says Captain America, seeming like he agrees. “Alright, let’s just--”

“My sensors indicate there is a lifeform down here,” a vaguely robotic voice interrupts. Peter supposes it must be Vision. “Over there,” he says, and starts swiftly heading towards Peter.  The rest of the present Avengers follow after him, their feet sloshing in the rising water with every step.

“Oh my god,” Peter hears Black Widow say, and he glances over, seeing the four Avengers staring at him.  Peter cringes, shutting his eyes. No. This isn’t happening.

Captain America makes the sound of breathing air through his teeth while he clenches his jaw.  “Looks like Octavius was doing experiments on this kid,” he observes. He breathes out.  “Okay, we’ll tell SHIELD where to find him.  Come on.”

Peter opens his eyes.  There’s no frickin way he’s getting picked up by _SHIELD._  He didn’t trust SHIELD the day it crashed into the Potomac River and he doesn’t trust them now, no matter how supposedly not-Hydra they are. Peter does not want to be taken in by a government organization.  That is something he _actively_ avoids.

“Cap, wait,” Black Widow says.  “You’re just gonna leave him down here?” Peter glances at Black Widow, and the woman in red behind her who is shaking her head wildly, her hand covering her mouth.  

“Well, I don’t know--” Captain America starts to say, but the woman interrupts.

“We cannot just leave him!” she says, marching forward. Her voice bears a distinct foreign accent.

“Wanda--” says Captain America, before getting interrupted again.

“No!” she shouts.  “No, I will not let you leave him here for SHIELD to find. We must help him.” Peter knows this Wanda woman is one of the new Avengers, but he doesn’t know much about her. He likes her so far.

“SHIELD will help him when they get here,” says Captain America says tiredly.

“We are here now,” Wanda insists.  “We cannot leave him here.  We must take him with us.”

“We don’t know who he is,” Captain America states.  

“He is just a boy!” Wanda cries.  

“Yes, but he could be…” Captain America falters, glancing at Vision. “Can you…”

“This human is not in any accessible databanks,” Vision says.  “I’m currently scanning him...he appears to be enhanced, although it is inconclusive what those enhancements might be.  I am not sure what his purpose is.”

Jeez, this is just sad.  The Avengers just stumbled upon him, not even knowing who he is.  They _accidentally_ rescued him, and they’re not even sure whether they even really want to save him or not.  Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, his ass.

Wanda and Steve argue about him for another minute before Natasha pipes up.

“You know, if you want to know who he is, you could just ask him.”

Both Steve and Wanda glance over at Peter, and before Steve can stop her, Wanda pulls the gag out of Peter’s mouth. Peter’s relieved.  He has a few choice words for these so called superheroes.  

“I--” he tries to say, but his throat is too dry and scratchy and he immediately starts coughing.

“Hey, hey,” Captain America says, panicking. “Someone get him some water.”

Peter hears someone rummage around the lab to look for a cup as he keeps coughing, unable to stop.  Someone puts a glass to his lips and tips it into his mouth.  Peter chokes on the water, coughing, then manages to swallow some of it.  He coughs some more, then drinks some more water.  

“Easy, kid,” Captain America says.  “There you go, just drink the water.”  Peter’s suddenly aware that it is Captain America who feeding him the water, and feels altogether humiliated once again.  So much for putting the Avenger in his place. Peter gulps down the water.  “Good,” says Steve.  “Just take slow, easy breaths.” Peter grudgingly does as the Captain says, taking a deep breath, feeling tears in his eyes from all the coughing. “Good,” says Captain America again.  “Can you talk?”

“Y--yes,” Peter chokes out at last.

“Can you tell me your name?” Captain America requests.

Peter doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Can you get these cuffs off me?” he replies.

“Tell us your name,” says Captain America.  “Can you do that?”

“I don’t want to,” Peter huffs, feeling four pairs of eyes on him. He sees Steve glances at his teammates, and Natasha asks,

“What are you doing down here?”

“Baking bread,” Peter responds sarcastically.  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Natasha does not look amused.  “Do you work for Octavius?”

Ugh, come on. How can they really think that?  “Yes, as you can see I’m a very loyal employee,” Peter snarks.  “On the verge of being promoted.”

Natasha’s frown deepens.  “Answer the question, kid.”

“No!” Peter exclaims frustratedly.  “No, I don’t work for him!  He’s the one that did this to me!”

Wanda steps forward again.  “He has been experimenting on you, yes?” she says.

“Y--yeah,” Peter mutters, meeting her eyes but immediately glancing away. She looks so sorry for him. Ugh.

“Enough of this,” Wanda announces, and with a wave of her hands which incites some weird red energy to flow from them, the metal cuffs on the table snap open with a loud clang. Peter’s eyes widen.  Well, at least _one_ of these so called superheroes has actual superpowers.

He starts to try to sit up, but Captain America stops him, putting a hand on his shoulder, one of the only parts of Peter that isn’t riddled with tubes or needles or other crap. “Hang on,” he says.  “Hang on.”

Peter grunts from the pain of trying to move. “What gives?” he says to Captain America.  “Aren’t you supposed to _love_ freedom or something? Free me.”

“I don’t know who are you,” Captain America tells him. “Except that you’ve been down here with Octavius, and clearly he’s...done something to you.” Peter sees the Captain’s eyes flit over the gash in Peter’s arm with the webbing spilling out. “I don’t know what it is, but I’ve seen first hand what modern science can do to a person.”

Peter squirms uncomfortably when Captain America looks at his arm. It’s almost more uncomfortable than having all the Avengers stare at him while he’s naked.

“That’s cute, chuckles,” he replies.  “But I’m afraid that sweet talk isn’t going to make me stick around and I don’t think you can stop me, so--” he starts to sit up again, trying to ignore the pain.

“Wait,” Captain America says, brandishing the shield on his arm. As if that’s going to stop Peter.  The only thing stopping Peter is all this lab equipment all over him, and he will leap out of here, right over Captain America’s blond head as soon as he gets it off of him. “You’re hurt,” Captain America says. “You’re not in any condition to try to move.”

Peter starts to pull out one of the needles. “Watch me.”

“You shouldn’t mess with that,” Captain America says.  He does sound very concerned, which gives Peter pause. “Just wait for someone from SHIELD to come down and help you….unfortunately we don’t have any scientists on the team anymore.”

Peter almost rolls his eyes. Well, looks like they shouldn’t have kicked Stark and Banner off the team. But Peter’s not going to say here and wait for a scientist from SHIELD to come.  He’s not going to let _any_ scientist get their hands on him again. “Well, then it’s lucky for you _I’m_ here, isn’t it?” he says, starting to detach the tubing from his arms, pulling it with a strangled groan.

Peter doesn’t know exactly what kind of crap Octavius was doing to him, but he knows enough about it to be able to take it apart. Of course, it would be a lot easier if he didn’t have one completely skinned hand that’s raw and dripping blood and on the other arm a hand that can barely move without shaking from the dissected state of his arm.  His hands shake and fumble as they tear at the equipment.  Maybe not the best way to do it, but right now Peter is focused solely on getting out of here and away from the Avengers...who are all staring at him right now.

“Do you mind?” Peter says to them. “Can’t a guy pull tubes out of his chest in private?” Peter starts to yank out a needle, grunting in pain. He then starts to pull out a larger tube, groaning in agony as he tries to do it as quickly as possible. He just needs to get out of here.  He tugs on the tube again, wondering vaguely if it’s messing up shit inside him as he pulls it out, almost screaming from the pain. He gets the tube out and tosses it aside, doubling over and breathing heavily. He doesn’t know if he can do this.

“Don’t do this, son,” Captain America says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “SHIELD will be here soon. They’re more qualified to help you recover from Octavius’ experiments.  You need to stay still.”

“And you need to shut up,” Peter bites back, shoving the Avenger away from him, not caring when Captain America stumbles back, caught off-guard by Peter’s strength.  He’s through with this.  He doesn’t care if he sounds like a kid throwing a tantrum. He just needs to get out.  Furiously, Peter starts to tear another needle out, balancing his weight on one heavily shaking arm, when he feels a warm hand on his back.

Peter glances over.  It’s Wanda. Her eyes are red.

Peter opens his mouth, wanting to ask what she’s doing, but no words come out. He begins to feel...calm. His eyes are wide as they stare into the woman’s. Everything around her seems hazy, but not in a bad way.  It’s pleasant.  Like there’s just a warm glow around the room. He feels peaceful.  He’s bent over on a lab table after days of his body being ravaged by a mad man’s experiments and he’s surrounded by the Avengers and SHIELD is coming, but...it’s okay.  Everything’s fine.

“Shh,” says Wanda.  Peter feels her hand stroke down his spine.  It feels good. “You’ve been through an ordeal.  You are hurt.  You must let us help.”

Peter slowly nods, stupefied. He just sits on the table, staring at Wanda. She could probably force him to sit there until SHIELD comes, but she doesn’t. She glances at Vision and he steps forward. He pushes Peter down on the table, laying him on his back again.  Peter doesn’t fight him.

“Do not move,” Vision says, starting to take apart the rest of the lab equipment still strapped to Peter. Peter doesn’t think he could move if he tried.  He can feel Vision working on getting the stuff out of him.  He can feel Vision’s hand on his groin as he pulls out the tube there. But Peter doesn’t move. Although he does let out a cry of pain as a particularly big tube is pulled out.

“It’s okay,” Wanda says to him, brushing her hand through Peter’s hair. “Shh. It’s almost done, child.” Vision works quickly but smoothly. Most of it, Peter barely feels, and barely cares at all, staring into Wanda’s glowing red eyes.

Before he realizes it, it’s over. All the tubes and needles and other equipment are out of him. Captain America glances at Peter’s arm with the dried blood and webs spilling out. “What about that?”

“I am not sure what to do about that, Captain,” Vision admits.

“Let’s just get him out of here,” says Natasha. “My pants are getting soaked.” Peter lolls his head to the side, seeing that the water is almost up to Black Widow’s waist now. There’s still no sign of SHIELD.  If Peter had the ability to right now, he might remind Captain America that if they wait around for SHIELD they might all drown.

“Yes, let’s go,” Wanda agrees, taking a step back.

Somewhere in Peter’s brain, he decides absently that he needs to follow her.  Or maybe his hazy mind computes that as a command somehow. Either way, Peter doesn’t really think about it before sliding off the table.

His knees immediately buckle under him, his legs too weak to support him, and he falls face-first into the water, gasping as the cold water engulfs his head and getting a mouthful of it. He flails in the water for only a moment before someone strong lifts him up.  Captain America basically picks him up by the scruff of his neck and sets him back on the table, looking both concerned and agitated, but mostly agitated, as Peter coughs, shivering.

“C--cold,” Peter stutters.  

The cold water shocked his system, woke his senses, at least enough that Peter starts to get very angry at what’s happening and bothered by all the pain he’s in -- but only for a moment. Then Wanda steps forward again and lifts Peter’s chin with her finger. A look into her glowing red eyes later and Peter is high as a kite once again.

“Fine,” says Captain America, watching Peter carefully as Peter now just sits there on the table, dulled, his eyes wide as they stare at Wanda. The Avengers’ leader still doesn’t look happy about taking Peter with him, he seems to have finally taken into account that the rising water level means they need to get out of there.

“Just a moment,” says Wanda, holding up a finger. She focuses on Peter again.  “You will be safe with us,” she tells him gently. She brushes back his dripping wet, unevenly cut hair away from his forehead.  “Tell me your name, little one,” she says.

“Peter,” answers the teenager sluggishly, but without hesitation. The word tumbles listlessly from his lips before he can stop it, and Peter doesn’t have enough sense right now to care at all.  

Wanda glances back at Steve.  “He is Peter,” she tells him.  “Happy?”

“Fine,” Captain America repeats. “Let’s just go. Someone carry him.”

Peter feels something wrap around him and just barely registers that it’s Vision’s cape.  Whether its purpose is to keep Peter warm or cover his nudity, Peter isn’t sure, but he is grateful either way. The next thing he knows, he is being scooped up in Vision’s arms.  Peter doesn’t fight the android in allowing him to lift him off the table and cradle him in his arms, wrapped in the cape.

Vision carries him across the lab, and starts to bring him through the tunnel.  Peter can hear voices in next room.  It sounds like SHIELD, shouting above the rush of the water from the leak in the entrance hall to the lab. It jostles Peter’s mind enough to click that he doesn’t want this.  Peter squirms slightly in Vision’s arms.  No...he doesn’t want anyone to see him. If they figure out who he is…

“Shhh,” says Wanda, coming to stand in front of Vision when Peter starts to struggle.  “Shhh.  Sleep, little one.”  She gently rests her fingers on Peter head. Peter is immediately calmed, and starts to drift off. “Sleep, Peter...”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the comments and support! It really means a lot to me!!!! Your comments saved Peter...for now...


	4. Chapter 4

_“...lost a lot of blood… going to have to operate… unsure what to do about the… decided to take it out… going to be okay?...DNA is altered…”_

_“...too late.”_

The pain is probably what wakes Peter up. He’s shaking from head to toe when he startles awake, and he’s drenched in sweat.  His mouth is dry and tastes like Aunt May’s mothballs. Swallowing with difficulty, he tries to sit up when he realizes he can’t.  He’s restrained to a bed with straps around his arms and legs that an experimental amount of tugging can’t break.

Peter’s breathing starts to get shallow and uneven as he starts to panic. He’s still trapped. He can’t get out. He’s just Doc Ock’s specimen and he’ll never get out.  Peter whimpers, looking frantically around the room, until he finally calms down enough to realize he’s not in the lab anymore, but in a medical facility of some kind.

The...Avengers.  Right, the _Avengers_ got him. He must be in the Avengers’ private hospital or something. Peter takes a deep shaking breath, laying his head back down on the pillow.  It could be worse, he supposes

Peter takes a moment to take stock of his body. A lot of him has been wrapped up in bandages.  There are white bandages around his neck, chest, and both of his arms and hands.  Due to the restraints, he can’t move enough to look under the blanket and check, but it feels like he’s still naked except for the thin hospital gown that he’s dressed in.

He’s in a hospital bed, but he’s strapped to it like a criminal.  Do the Avengers know who he is?  Peter’s heart thumps at that idea and he again pulls desperately at the restraints on the bed. He needs to get out of here.

“Calm down, son,” a commanding voice tells him.  Peter twists his head to the side to see Captain America standing in the doorway.  Peter glares at Steve Rogers as he enters the room, followed by that Wanda woman.

“You’re not my _real_ dad,” Peter says snarkily, looking at the Avengers and frowning slightly.  He realizes he’s never seen Captain America out of the red, white, and blue costume.  He doesn’t look quite as imposing in jeans and a t-shirt, although the shirt _is_ tight enough to show off his pecs. His teammate, meanwhile, is wearing a comfy looking red sweatshirt and leggings.  It must be casual Friday for the Avengers. “Let me out,” Peter demands, pulling on the restraints again.

“ _Calm down_ ,” Captain America repeats. “We’re trying to help you, Peter.”

Peter freezes at the mention of his name, his eyes flitting over to look at Steve.  “That’s...how do you…?” They know his name. How do they know his name???

“You told us,” Captain America reminds him.

“I didn’t…” He wouldn't do that... Peter pauses, starting to remember what happened.  His eyes shift over to focus on Wanda.  “What did you do to me?” he asks.  “You...you hypnotized me?”

“Yes,” says Wanda without hesitation.

Peter blinks, not expecting her to be so candid about it. But it doesn’t make him feel better. “You can’t just…” he starts to say angrily. “How...how much did I tell you?” he demands to know.

“Just your name,” Wanda replies simply. “Just your first name.”

Peter lets out a breath. “So you don’t know who I am.” He’s strapped to a hospital bed belonging to the Avengers, but at least they don’t know he’s Spider-Man.

“No…” says Captain America slowly.  “Should we?”

“No,” Peter replies quickly. “I’m no one.”

Captain America looks suspicious.  “Then why all the secrecy, Peter?” he asks.

“There’s no secrecy,” Peter says innocently.

“Tell us your last name then,” Captain America requests.

Peter falters. “I...don’t want to…”

“Well, that’s what I’m talking about,” Captain America says with a satisfied grimace. “What’s the point of keeping your identity from us?”

“What’s the point of these restraints?” Peter counters. “Forgive me if strapping me to a bed doesn’t exactly instill _trust_ in me.”

Captain America bows his head in acknowledgment.  “I can understand that,” he says.  “Especially given the circumstance and what you’ve been through.”  He pauses.  “But Dr. Octavius was performing experiments on you, and…” Captain America stops himself. It seems like he doesn’t want to say this.

“And what?” Peter asks testily.

“And your body may have been altered by his experiments,” Captain America finishes.

Peter frowns slightly. “What do you mean?”

“We had our doctors look you over,” Captain America starts to explain. “They found quite a few...abnormalities.”  He says this very gently, seeming nervous to divulge this bad news to Peter.

“Like what?” Peter questions impatiently.

“Well, I’m not a doctor,” says Captain America, scratching his head.  “I’m not sure I understood it all. But some of it was obvious to me.  Your strength.  Those...well, you seem to have some kind of...silk things in your arms.”

Peter glances at his arms. “Oh,” he says, almost in amusement.  They think Octavius did this to him.

“I think they said it was as if you gained some of the characteristics of an insect of some kind,” Captain America says, sighing. He then scowls.  “That Octavius is one sick guy.  I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“I uh…” Peter’s not exactly sure what to say to that.  “I’m sure it’ll be--”

“We’re working to undo what he did to you,” Captain America continues.  “But we haven’t had any luck so far.  They said it seems your genetic code has been altered.  Again, I’m sorry.”

Undo it?  They’re trying to take away Peter’s powers?  Peter...is not sure whether or not he would want that, actually. On the one hand, normal life. Cool.  On the other hand, he’s grown accustomed to his abilities. Does he really want to give up web-swinging?  And what would happen if there is a serious emergency and Peter isn’t able to do anything to help?  Giving up his power would be one thing, but letting go of all of the responsibility that came with it...would maybe be another.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Peter manages to say.

Captain America raises his eyebrows.  “Fine?”

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll--”

“Son,” Captain America says.  “Ah...Peter,” he corrects himself. “I wanted to tell you this myself because I have a little bit of experience with being physically changed by a science experiment.”  He glances at Wanda.  “So does Wanda.  But the difference is, we both volunteered.  We asked for this. You didn’t. And I can only imagine that waking up and finding your body has been altered without your permission can be pretty scary.  Especially when you’re just a kid.  So it’s okay. You don’t have to say it’s fine.”

“It’s _fine,_ ” Peter repeats non-compliantly.  He doesn’t want to discuss this with Captain America.  In a way, the Avenger is right.  He _hadn’t_ asked to be like this, and it _was_ a frightening experience to suddenly change...to become like a spider...but Peter doesn’t want to think about that. It’s all in the past now, and he certainly doesn’t want Captain America meddling in his life.  “I just want to go home.”

Captain America and Wanda exchange glances.

Peter groans.  “What?” he asks.

“It’s probably best if you stay here for now,” says Captain America.  “Until we can sort out what’s happened with you.  You’re still recovering, and we need to make sure you aren’t--make sure it’s not dangerous. We can call your parents if you--”

“I’m not a kid,” Peter barks out.

Captain America looks at him.  “How old are you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“You look about fifteen,” Captain America tells him.

“I’m _eighteen_ ,” Peter grumbles unhappily.  “Even though that’s _none of your business_.”  

“Eighteen, huh?” says Captain America, looking skeptical about that. “Well, eighteen’s not too old to call your parents when something like this happens to you.”

“Yes, it is,” Peter disagrees.

“Why is that?” Captain America asks.

“Because I don’t have parents,” Peter informs the Captain grudgingly.

Captain America looks sympathetic.  “You must have someone,” he says gently.  “Someone that can help you?”

The closest thing Peter has to a parent is Aunt May, and while she is a wonderful person and Peter loves her dearly, she needs to stay as far away from all of this as possible, for her own safety.  

“No.”

Captain America’s mouth forms a line.  “Well,” he says.  “You’ve been missing for at least a week--"

" _A week?"_ Peter repeats incredulously, his mouth falling open.   

"Possibly more,” Captain America continues.  “We don’t know how long Octavius kept you down there in his lab.  It’s been a week since we found you…”

“ _What?_ ” Peter sputters.  “How?” He slept for a whole _week???_

“Calm down, son,” Captain America orders.  

“It’s been a _week?_ ” Peter demands, not calming down at all.  “ _Why?_ ”

“You were injured, experimented on...we had to run tests, there was surgery involved…”

“Are you _kidding me?_ ” Peter asks, struggling again at the restraints on the bed, starting to feel less and less like he’s been rescued at all.  “You--you drugged me?”

“We _sedated_ you…”

“You--you had no right to…”

“Trust me, I know better than anyone what it's like to wake up to a huge time loss.  Me, I lost seventy years.  I think you can deal with a week.  Now, you need to _calm down_ and tell me who I can call for you.  Yes, you were gone at least a week, so there must be someone who noticed your absence.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, gritting his teeth.  “My professors.  I missed all my classes.”

“What school do you go to?” Captain America questions.

Peter snorts. “You’re a very nosy fellow, huh?”  

“I’m just trying to find out anything about you.”

“Well, stop it,” Peter replies. “Nobody asked you to do that.”

“Well, what do you want me to do, son?” Captain America questions irritably.  “Drop you off on the curb by yourself?”

“Yes,” says Peter.  “The nearest curb would be great, thanks.”

“I’m not going to do that. Last time I checked you couldn’t even walk by yourself.  And I don’t care what you say, I’m not going to leave a kid like you alone after he’s been through what you have.  We rescued you from that lab, so there’s at least a little bit of responsibility on our part to make sure you get home safely.”

“Rescuing me,” Peter repeats.  “Is that what you call this?  Hypnotizing me and strapping me down?” Peter’s getting angry again. The Avengers _barely_ rescued him from Doc Ock.  You can’t really call coming in _after_ all the damage has already been done and swapping one hostage situation for another _rescuing._

“We’ve only put restraints on you because we don’t know how dangerous the effects of Octavius’s experiments could be,” Captain America says frustratedly. “We’re only trying to help you, I promise.”

“This isn’t helping me!” Peter almost shouts.  “You say you’re sorry for what happened to me, but _you_ had your doctors do experiments on me too!  While I was sleeping!  Without my permission!  You admitted it!”  What Captain America doesn’t understand is that if they _had_ managed to take away Peter’s powers while he was unconscious, then _that_ would have been waking up to find his body altered without his permission.  The very thing Steve said would be terrifying.

“We’re _trying_ to help you, son,” Captain America repeats, now completely ignoring the fact that Peter did not want to be called _son_. “Can you understand that? We’re not just going to drop you off somewhere the way you are right now.  It’s too damn dangerous.”

“I don’t care,” says Peter frustratedly. “Let me _out._ ”

“Not until we sort through this,” Captain America says.  “Why don’t you start by telling us how you came to be in that lab in the first place?”

“Why don’t you go fly a kite, Captain?” Peter bites back.

“You won’t even tell us that?”

“I’m not telling you jack shit.”

Captain America raises his eyebrows. “You’re hiding something, kid.”

“No, but my mom told me not to talk to strangers.”

“What were you doing in that lab?” Captain America asks again.

“Playing Yahtzee,” Peter says sarcastically.

“No,” says Captain America.

“Arts and crafts?” Peter tries.

“No.”

“Making memories?”

“Stop it.”

“ _You_ stop it,” Peter says. “I don’t have to tell you. What are you gonna do, torture me?  Been there, done that, pal.”

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Captain America states.

“Then let me _go_ ,” Peter whines.  “Let me out of here!  Let me _out._ Let me OUT!”  He tugs and pulls on the restrains, grunting from both frustration and pain.  

Captain America rubs a hand over his face.  “Wanda.  Please,” he says.   “I can’t deal with this kid anymore.”

Wanda takes a step toward the bed, her eyes resting on the panicking teenager.  “It is okay,” she says, moving a hand downward.  Red energy flows from her fingertips.  Peter feels a wash of calmness fall over him. Shit. Peter had almost forgotten she could do that.

“S--stop,” Peter gasps quickly, struggling to get the word out before he loses the sense of mind to protest this.

“Shhh,” Wanda says, putting her hand on Peter’s chest. Peter sinks back into the bed.  His arms and legs slacken and stop fighting the restraints. His eyes are wide and staring at Wanda.  He breathes out, completely lost under her control.  “Good,” says Wanda. She sits on the edge of the bed.  “Now, Peter,” she says.  “It is time to tell us what you were doing in Dr. Octavius’s lab.  Tell us what happened, Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops...I should have posted this chapter a long time ago... Thanks so much for all the comments and kudos btw!!!!


	5. Chapter 5

When Peter resurfaces, each one of his six senses is instantly hit with a terrible feeling.  A bright light shines in his eyes, forcing him to squeeze them shut.  The stinging smell and taste of chemicals makes him cough and gag.  He feels pain all over his body from things pinching him and poking into him, he’s dizzy and nauseated and exhausted.  His spider-sense is going nuts, his brain pounding.

But worst of all, the voice of Otto Octavius is mocking him.

“Test number thirty-seven, injecting the specimen with drug mixture number four, is still inconclusive.  The subject is waking up, and I will continue to monitor and record its response.”

Peter forces his eyes open and can’t help but let out a quiet whimper from the physical pain, in addition to the mental pain of turning his head and seeing Octavius leaning over him, the eyes behind his thick glasses inspecting Peter carefully.

“G--get...a--a...way…” Peter groans, barely able to get the words out in somewhat of a jumbled mess.  

Octavius either doesn’t hear him or is simply ignoring him as he walks over to his computer to type something in.  He continues talking, clearly dictating to himself or perhaps a recording device.

“Subject’s vitals are dropping,” he announces, squinting at the screen. “Could be a result of the medication, or from the recent vivisection during test number thirty-three…”

Peter winces at that, remembering all too clearly the feeling of Ock’s scalpel cutting into his flesh.  He can’t even bear to glance over at his arm again, or at any part of his body really, since there’s so many tubes and needles poking him everywhere.  There’s nowhere to look that doesn’t make Peter sick to his stomach at the reminder that he’s trapped here as Doc Ock’s newest science project.

At least he’s only trapped here until he dies...which, at the rate this is going, may be soon. Peter _hopes_ it’s soon.

His eyes start to drift closed again, until he suddenly sees something in the corner of his vision and he gasps in shock, his eyes flying wide open as he stares at a woman with glowing red eyes.

The woman’s red gaze is on him, and Peter feels strange, getting the odd feeling that this has all happened before...and then he _remembers._  The...Avengers...were here?  Weren’t they?  Didn’t they...save him?  This woman...Wanda...she’s one of them.  She...did something…  Or was that all just a dream?  Was that just his pathetic imagination foolishly thinking he’d ever be rescued, that anyone would ever find him in this underwater lab, that anyone, let alone the _Avengers_ would ever care…

But then...why is she _here?_

Octavius approaches him again, another needle clutched in his hand, this one excessively long and attached to a thick tube.  “Time to begin test number thirty-eight,” he states.

Peter looks over at Wanda, who is still staring at him. Maybe there’s a chance.  “H--h--help!” he chokes out, looking desperately at Wanda, but she makes no movement.  The expression on her face is full of sympathy, her brightly shining red eyes are narrowed in deep concern, but she doesn’t do or say anything. “P--please!” Peter yells weakly.

Wanda says nothing. Octavius, however, glances over towards Wanda, then back to Peter.  “ _Who_ are you talking to?” he demands.  He looks in the direction of Wanda again, then shakes his head at Peter, chuckling slightly.  “Take note, the subject appears to be displaying evidence of hallucinations.  Could be a further symptom of the drugs.  Now, to begin the next procedure…”

With one gloved hand he grips Peter’s head under the chin, while two metal tentacles start to force Peter’s jaw to open.  The other hand still grips the needle and Peter watches in abject fear as it comes closer to his face.  

“H--help!”  he cries out to Wanda again, struggling against Ock’s arms which are still prying open his jaw.  “Help!  Help me!”  

But Wanda remains silent and still.  She seems just to be here to _watch_ him be tortured.

Octavius laughs some more.  “There’s no one _there,_ arachnid,” he says, glancing again towards the corner where Wanda stands. “No one’s going to help you.”  

He then lets go of Peter with all three of the arms that were gripping him and inspects Peter laid out on lab table for a moment.  He seems to smile at the sight of it, and Peter glares at him, breathing heavily.  He still won’t dare to look again at the sight of himself strapped down naked to the table, cut open and full of tubes, but he knows it’s not a pretty sight.

“I g--get it,” Peter groans.  “You’re very proud of yourself.  You wanna get a selfie with me?  One for your insta?  Hey, I wouldn’t judge--”

“Shut up!” Octavius barks at him, grabbing his head roughly again.  “You know,” he continues, with less anger in his voice but no less menace.  “I find it quite amusing how after all those years you spent _playing the hero_ , after all those times you interfered with my plans just because a _few_ measly human lives may have been in danger, after all those lives you saved, there’s still not a single person that’s here to save _you._ ”

Octavius starts to wrench Peter’s mouth open again and Peter grunts, his eyes still on Wanda.  “He--lp,” he chokes out again, one last try.  But still Wanda does nothing.  She either doesn’t care...or she’s really _not_ here, and Peter really is well and truly alone in all this.

Doc Ock laughs again, bringing the needle back towards Peter’s mouth again.  “There’s no one there,” he repeats.  “Yes, I think the subject’s sanity is definitely slipping,” he adds.  “Now, open wide, Spider-Man…”

With that, Octavius shoves the needle and tube down Peter’s throat.  Peter gags and squeezes his eyes shut in pain from the needle jabbing into the tender flesh inside his throat.  He feels something dripping down and Peter opens his eyes to see a thick substance going through the tube.  The last thing he sees before he blacks out again is Wanda staring at him for another moment before disappearing.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the comments and kudos! They really motivate me to write more! <3


	6. Chapter 6

Peter wakes up with a heaving gasp.  The restraints on his arms and legs are digging into his skin. He can’t break them.  His chest feels tight.  He’s gotta get out.  He can’t take this anymore. Ock can’t do this to him anymore.

“No!” Peter yells, fighting the restraints as best he can.  

“Is...he...okay?” someone asks.  Their voice seems so far away.

“Peter, calm down,” someone else says.

“NO!” Peter repeats hoarsely.  Someone grabs him by the shoulders, trying to force him down.  Peter fights against it.  He’s weak and he’s tied down, but he’s giving it all he’s got.

“Agh. Jeez, this kid’s strong…” he hears.

“You’re safe,” someone’s saying.  ‘You’re safe.”

“Wh--wha…” says Peter, blinking his eyes several times.  It takes him a moment before he realizes the two people staring down at him are not Doc Ock, and this is not Doc Ock’s lab table. Peter stares wide-eyed at Wanda and Captain America. His body goes still and Captain America lets go of his shoulders, straightening up.  

“You okay, kid?” Captain America asks.

“Wh--what--what’s hap--what’s happening?” Peter chokes out.  His chest is heaving.  He can’t breathe.

He was _just_ in Doc Ock’s lab.  And now he’s here. But he was here before. And then he was back in the lab.  And Wanda was there.  But she wasn’t real.  And now she’s here.   _What’s going on???_

Is any of this _real?_  

“Calm down.   You’re safe,” Wanda says, but Peter can’t trust her. 

“Wh-- _what?_ ” is all he can say.  Like the word _safe_ isn’t in his vocabulary anymore.

“You’re safe,” Wanda repeats again.  “I’m sorry I had to do that to you.”

“You…” Peter narrows his eyes on Wanda and pulls on the straps again.  “What did--what did you do to me?”

“I stepped into your mind,” Wanda says in a soothing voice, but Peter isn’t soothed.

“You did _what?_ ”

“It was just a memory.”

Peter stares at her for a moment, then shakes his head violently. “N--no.  No, it was--it was…”  It was too...real...

“I’m sorry, I had to make you relive some of your experiences to find out--” Wanda starts to explain. But Peter can’t even trust that she’s really here.

Doc Ock said he was hallucinating when he saw Wanda.  That she was just a side-effect of whatever drugs or creepy things he was doing to Peter.  So how does he know this isn’t still a hallucination?  This could _all_ be a hallucination.  

After all, what’s more likely?  That the Avengers rescued Peter only to just strap him down and torture him again?  Or that he’s still being held captive by an evil scientist?

Well, actually neither of those things sound particularly realistic now that Peter thinks about it. Man, his life is super messed up…

“Peter, can you hear me…?”

Peter realizes Wanda is still speaking to him, but it’s hard to focus on her when his heart is beating out of his chest and his ears are ringing and he’s only about fifty-percent sure she’s actually here.  He stares at her.  

“Is--is this real?”

“Yes,” says Wanda firmly.  “You are safe now.  As I said, I just entered your memories for a moment.”

Peter’s eyes widen.  “You--you went into my head?” he asks incredulously.  “You--you looked at my--you looked at my m--memories?” he chokes out.   His traumatic, _humiliating_ memories… And made him relive them… It was so real. It still feels like it was real.

“I had to find out who you are.”

Peter coughs on air.  “You--you found out?” he asks hoarsely.  

Oh shit. Shit shit shit. Suddenly being strapped to a bed and being forced to relive raw and tormenting experiences isn’t the worst thing that’s happening right now. Screwing with a guy’s mind is not such a big deal when compared with romping through his head to find out his biggest secret. He’s _never told anyone._  And even if he was going to tell someone, the first person he’d tell certainly wouldn’t be the _Avengers._  

“What did you find out?” Captain America asks. Peter looks at him.

“NO!” Peter yells.  “No!  You can’t tell him!  You can’t tell anyone!  That’s a--that’s personal information and you can’t...you can’t do that! This isn’t right!  You can’t--you can’t just go into my head and--”

“Kid, please be quiet,” Captain America says, rubbing his temples.  “Wanda, what did you--”

“No!  I’m not gonna be quiet!”  Peter shouts. If that’s what it takes to stop Wanda from saying anything.  “You don’t deserve quiet!  If you wanted quiet, you should have left me down there ‘cause buddy, I don’t do quiet!  See, blah blah blah I can just keep talking and hey, you can’t have a nice little conversation about a guy’s personal memories and information if the guy won’t stop talking, right?  And believe me, I can keep talking for a long time, and what are you going to do about it?  You know, one time I was on the subway and this old man…”

Peter keeps talking.  Wanda and Captain America exchange glances. Then Wanda walks over to him.  

“...and he said, never--aah!” Peter suddenly realizes Wanda’s eyes are red as she stands over him.  “NO!” Peter yells, fighting against the restraints again. “S--stay away from me!  Aaaghh--”

Wanda presses a glowing red finger against Peter’s forehead.  Immediately Peter feels her control take over him.  He goes still.  His brain is in a fog.  Damn it.

“N--no…” is all Peter can manage to say, but Wanda just adds another finger to push her red energy into him.  A second swell of “calmness” flows through him, inhibiting his ability to fight it.

“Shhh,” says Wanda.  “Be quiet, child.”

Peter head drops onto the pillow and he stares up at the ceiling.  He breathes out slowly.

“Good,” Wanda praises him, as if he was actually doing this of his own volition. She then turns to Captain America. “Now I can tell you…”

“... _Dr. Octavius...the lab_ …”

Peter can hear what they’re saying, but it’s like they’re speaking from the other end of a tunnel. But he’s trying to stay focused.  Somewhere in his mind he knows the hazy peacefulness is a lie.  This is a forced obedience. This is smothering him.

But everything’s fine. His attention drifts from the conversation to the lights on the ceiling.  They’re glowing.

“... _Spider-Man…?_ ” Captain America is saying, getting his attention again.  Because hey, that’s his name!

But hang on...they’re not supposed to know that. Peter lifts his head, fighting through the fog.  He stares at Captain America and Wanda, realizing again what’s going on.  What they did to him.  

“You--you _assholes,_ ” he groans weakly.

Captain America and Wanda ignore him and keep talking about him like he’s not there.

“He’s so young,” Captain America says, inspecting Peter more closely.  Peter cringes.

“Yes, he is,” Wanda agrees, pushing Peter’s hair back away from his face.

“Ugh--don’t--don’t touch me,” Peter grunts, kicking at the restraints again.  The sedative effect of Wanda’s powers is wearing off again and he’s starting to get worked up.

“Shh,” says Wanda, smoothing his hair back again. Once more, red light starts to flow from her fingertips, but Captain America puts his hand up.

“No, don’t,” he says to Wanda.  “I want to talk to the kid.”

Peter groans.  That little bit of energy numbed him again, but as much as before. “Not a _kid,_ ” he mumbles.

Captain America doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“You’re really Spider-Man?” he asks finally.

“No, I’m the Hulk,” Peter mutters sarcastically, rolling his eyes.  “Yes, I’m _Spider-Man_ ,” he admits through gritted teeth. “What? The “silk things” or whatever you called them in my arms wasn’t a big enough clue for you idiots? We’ve met before, you know.  Remember?  The Avengers were fighting that giant robot thing and I saved all your asses?  Remember?”

Captain America frowns.  “I remember,” he says.  “I just didn’t think Spider-Man was...so young.” He presses his fingers between his eyes like he’s thinking very hard about this. “So...if you’re eighteen...you must have…” He glances up at Peter again.  “You started doing this when you were...what?   _Sixteen?_ ”

Peter swallows.  “Uh, fifteen, actually.”

Captain America shakes his head incredulously. “Please tell me your parents know what you’re up to.”

“Uhhhhh…” says Peter, wishing he had a good way to answer that.

Captain America closes his eyes, clearly taking Peter’s lack of answer to be a hard _no._

“So…” Peter says slowly.  “Can you--can you get me out of these things now?” he asks, tugging again on the restraints.  “Cause I can tell you I’ve pretty much got the whole superpowers thing down pat at this point.”

Captain America opens his eyes and looks at him again.  But neither Captain America nor Wanda make any movement to unrestrain him.

“So Octavius didn’t do this to you?” Captain America questions after a pause.

“Nope,” Peter replies shortly.

“Then how did--”

“None of your business,” says Peter.

“Were you born like--”

“No.”

“Was it Hyrda--”

“No.”

“Was there--”

“Look,” says Peter frustratedly.  “As much as I love this super fun guessing game… Believe it or not, it’s not really something I really want to get into.  So could you just not?  Please and thank you.”

“I just want to understand how a kid like you ended up as…” Captain America pauses.

“As...what?” Peter asks.  “A freak?”

“A spider...boy…” Captain America finishes.

“Spider- _Man,_ ” Peter corrects him.

“Fine, a spider- _man_ ,” Captain America sighs. “How did it happen?”

“Why do you _care?_ ” Peter asks.

“Because I still don’t know if I can trust you,” Captain America tells him. “I know we’ve _met,_ but the Avengers don’t know anything about you.  SHIELD doesn’t know anything about you. Most people think you’re a criminal.  Nobody knows who you are.”

“And?” Peter asks. “None of this is news, pal. It’s called a secret identity for a reason.  I don’t share my personal life with anyone.  And I know this is going to break your little red, white, and blue heart, but I don’t particularly _care_ whether you trust me or not.”

Captain America raises his eyebrows, glancing at the restraints.  “Maybe you didn’t notice this, but you’re not a great bargaining position, kid,” he says. “I’m not letting you out of those cuffs until you can explain yourself.  Start with how you got your powers.”

Peter huffs and pulls on the restraints again. “Ugh.  Is that _really_ necessary?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you just have your friend force it from my memories like you did before?” Peter snaps sarcastically.

“I didn’t want to have to resort to that, but I will if I have to,” Captain America says, nodding towards Wanda, who puts her hand on Peter’s head again.

“What?” says Peter in a panic, fighting harder against the restraints  He didn’t think this through. “No. _No._  Come on.  No.  That was--I was being sarcastic. Come on.  I didn’t mean that.  Please don’t.”

“Then tell us,” Captain America says calmly.

“Okay, _okay!_ ” Peter yells.  “Just get your hand off of me,” he growls at Wanda.  She removes her hand slowly, and Peter breathes out.  “Stay _out_ of my head,” he says forcefully.

“Then just talk to us,” Wanda tells him.

“Ugh.  God. You guys are _assholes,_ you know that?” Peter groans.

“So you’ve said.  Start talking,” Captain America says.

“I...” Peter really doesn’t want to.  “If--if I tell you, you’ll unstrap me, right?” he asks just to make sure.

“Maybe.”

That’s not what Peter wants to hear, but he doesn’t really have much of a choice here, does he?

“Ugh.  Fine,” Peter huffs.  “It’s…” Peter stares up at the ceiling.  God, his stomach feels tight.  He’s never told this to anyone. He barely lets _himself_ think about what happened three years ago. “A...spider bit me,” he says finally.

Captain America is staring at him.  Peter turns his head to look at him. Well, it’s true.

“A spider bit you,” Captain America repeats in disbelief. “And that somehow turned you into…” He shakes his head.  “Uh huh.  Sure.”

“It’s true!” Peter insists, his face heating up.

“What kind of spider?”

“Um...a small one.” Peter mutters.

Captain America raises his eyebrows as high as they go.  “There must be more to the story.”

“Uh, no, that’s it,” Peter replies. At least that’s all he wants to share.

“Kid.  Come on.”

“That’s it,” Peter repeats. “That’s how it happened.”

“Fine.  I guess you don’t want out of those cuffs,” Captain America says, crossing his arms.

Peter groans.  “Okay, okay, fine,” he gives in.  “Well, I… Heh.  Okay.  So, just before I get into it, is there any kind of _pardon_ on the table here?  Is that even something you can offer?  I mean, I know you’re not the president, but you’re basically America, so maybe…?”

“Pardon?” Captain America repeats, staring at Peter. “What...did you do?”

“Nothing!” Peter insists.  “I mean...well… Okay, I sort of broke into one of Oscorp’s labs and… Alright, in my defense, I’m pretty sure they lured me there on purpose. Anyway, the point is, I broke in. A spider broke out.  We met.  It bit me. The end.”

“The end?”

“Well, yeah, from that point it was first a lot of nausea, then came the weird powers. The spandex entered the picture a couple weeks later.”

“Why did you break into Oscorp?”

“Uh…”

“Why would they try to lure you there?

“Um.  Reasons.”

“Reasons?”

“It’s complicated,” Peter groans.  “Look, dude.  I’m not gonna tell you my life story.  That’s basically how it happened.  If you’re not satisfied with that, then I don’t know what to say.”

Captain America sighs.  “Fine,” he says finally.

“So…” Peter yanks on the restraints again.  “You gonna take these off or what?”

Captain America’s eyes move to look at the straps on the bed. “If we take them off, what will you do?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” Peter asks frustratedly.

“Will you try to leave?”

“ _Try_ to?” Peter snorts.  “No.  Will I walk out of here and never look back?  You betcha.”

Captain America narrows his eyes. “Then you can stay put for now,” he says.

“ _What?_ ” Peter says, his voice squeaking unfortunately. “That’s not fair!  You promised!”

“I did _not_ promise,” Captain America reminds him. “And even if I had, you _barely_ upheld your end of the bargain by offering what I can only assume is either the most bare-bones story of what happened to you to make you this way or a flat-out lie.”

“I didn’t _lie,_ ” Peter inists, grinding his teeth frustratedly.  “ _And_ even I had,” he adds, echoing the Captain.  “You can’t keep me here! What kind of _assholes_ are you, _seriously?_ ”

“You need rest,” Captain America says calmly.  “You need more medical attention.  You’re in no shape to be going anywhere. I don’t think you fully understand what Dr. Octavius did to you--”

“Aagh.  Shut up,” Peter interrupts, not wanting to think about it. “I’ll be _fine._  I heal.” He’s never had to heal from _this_ much damage though.

“Even so.  You nearly died, kid. What you went through… that’s not an easy thing to just walk off. We’re just trying to help.”

Peter huffs.  “And what if I don’t _want_ your help?”

“Well…” Captain America looks pointedly at the straps around Peter’s wrists. “You don’t have a choice.  You’re a wanted man, Spider-Man.  And I’m not letting you leave.  Not yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays! Please leave a comment if you can!!!!!!!!


	7. Chapter 7

_“Arachnid?  Arachnid?  You with me?”_

“Huh?” Peter shakes himself awake.

A cold tremor runs down his spine as he sees Doctor Octopus looming over him.

“You’ve been muttering to yourself for the past two hours,” Ock informs him wryly.  “Something about the Avengers?”

“Wh--what?” Peter chokes out. What’s going on? This isn’t… How does he keep ending up back here?  Or did he never leave?

Doc Ock is watching him with an interested expression on his face while he organizes a trayful of sharp surgical tools. “The Avengers…” he says.   “I have to admit, I am _intrigued_ by this insight into your subconscious.  Tell me, do you daydream about the Avengers a lot, Spider-Man?  Wish you were one of them?”

“No,” says Peter, squeezing his eyes shut. His stomach is turning from the sight of what Octavius has done to him. He’s not supposed to be here. “No,” he groans.  “This isn’t real.  The Avengers were here.  They were _here._ ”

“Hmm…” Octavius says. There’s a pause, and then Peter feels a sharp pierce in his stomach. His eyes fly open to see Octavius cutting into him with a scalpel. “You feel that?” Octavius asks with a smirk. “This is real. You were _dreaming,_ Spider-Man.”

Peter hisses in agony as Octavius digs the scalpel deeper into him. He can feel blood dripping. He wonders how much blood he’s already lost and how much more he can afford to lose.

“No…” he grunts.  “I wasn’t dreaming.   _This_ is the dream.”   _This_ is the _nightmare._

“Ah,” says Octavius, peering down at Peter.  “We’ve had this discussion before, arachnid.  You’re losing the ability to discern dreams from reality.  There’s a word for that, you know.  Schizophrenia.”

Octavius pulls the scalpel out of Peter and grabs a paper towel from across the room with a mechanical arm.

“Now, I’m not a psychologist...” Ock continues, wiping the blood off the scalpel. “But my guess would be that that you’re dissociating due to the pain.  You’ve dreamed up a reality where the Avengers come to save you.  Probably because you idolize them. You think that they _should_ save you and therefore they _will_.”

“I...ugh…” It hurts to even speak. But Peter has to set the record straight.  “I _don’t_ idolize them.  They’re...assholes.”

Octavius raises his eyebrows.  “Well, finally we agree on something,” he says. “So tell me.  Why then, do you think they would come?”

“Because they _did._ ”

Octavius shakes his head.  “Even if they arrived right now...wouldn’t they be a little late, Spider-Man? If _anyone_ cared about you at all, wouldn’t they have come by now?  Wouldn’t they have stopped me from doing _this?_ ”

Peter cries out in pain as Octavius cuts into him again.  He fights against the restraints but there’s nothing he can do. There’s no way out of this.

_“Wake up.”_

Peter’s eyes fly open.  His chest is heaving like he’s been running a marathon.  Or running away from something… Wanda is standing over his bed, looking concerned.  Peter just stares at her, panicking as he struggles to take each breath.

“Breathe,” Wanda tells him.

But Peter can’t breathe.  He strains against the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. He has no idea if this is real or not. He feels just as much fear and panic as he did a moment ago when Octavius was slicing him open.  Is this just...schizophrenia?  Or was _that_ just a very vivid dream?  And does it really _matter?_  Either way, he can’t tell which is which.  He’s losing it.

“Peter…” says Wanda. “This is real.  You were having a nightmare about Octavius.”

Peter shakes his head.  “How--how do you...how did you know that…” He pauses. Holy shit. “God--god damnit,” he rasps out, tugging on the restraints.  “S--stay out of my head!”

“Just breathe,” Wanda repeats.  “I can make you calm,” she offers.

“No!” Peter yells.  “Don’t--don’t touch me!” The cuffs rattle as he pulls and kicks at them in his panic.

“You just need to breathe.  You need to calm down.”

“What I _need_ is these cuffs off of me.”

Wanda chews her lip.  “I’m sorry, Peter.  I can’t do that.”

Peter huffs.  “Then go away.”

To his surprise, Wanda does.  She turns and walks out of the room.  

Peter continues to gasp for breath as he just stares around the dark room.  He doesn’t remember ever falling asleep, but he supposes it's possible that he did. After Cap declared he wasn’t going to let Peter go, he had left Peter with the Avengers’ hospital staff. A nurse had fussed over his bandages, spoon-fed him some soup, and subjected him to a few basic tests.  But other than that, Peter has just by lying here, cuffed to this bed, for...a while.   

Except... _is_ he really cuffed to his bed...or is he just going crazy?  Or both???

Peter is struggling with that thought just as the lights flip on and Wanda walks back into the room with Captain America in tow. He eyes Captain America warily.  The man is wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt now. Clearly he was sleeping, but he doesn’t look too annoyed at being pulled out of bed at whatever hour it is now.

“Oh good, I see you got the invite to my pajama party,” Peter mutters sarcastically, still trying to regain control of his breathing.

Captain America doesn’t respond.  Peter doesn’t know what Wanda told him.  But there’s a certain look in Captain America’s eyes that wasn’t there the last time that Peter saw him.

“If we take these restraints off you, what are you going to do?” Captain America asks finally.   It’s basically the same question he asked before, but it’s with a different tone of voice.  Not so much a question anymore, but a test.

“I...just want to go home.”

Captain America sighs.  “I can’t let you go right now,” he says.  “I can take these cuffs off you, but only if you promise to stay.”

“That’s not fair,” Peter insists. “God, you guys are just as bad as Doc Ock.”

Captain America raises his eyebrows, giving Peter a look.

“Okay, not... _as_ bad,” Peter admits begrudgingly. “I guess you’re not eight-armed lunatics with a strong megalomaniacal streak, but you’re something almost as shitty.  You’re--you’re jerks!  What did I ever do to _you?_ ”

“It’s not us,” Captain America says. “It’s...we can’t just let you go.  SHIELD’s going to want to talk to you.  I don’t know what they--”

“No!” Peter cuts Captain America off.  “No.  Absolutely not.  No SHIELD.  I don’t trust them.”

“I think the feeling’s mutual,” Captain America replies.

“I don’t _care_ ,” Peter groans. “SHIELD can kiss my ass.  I don’t care what they think of me.”

“You’re not exactly in a _position_ not to care,” Captain America states.

“Because you _put_ me in this position,” Peter huffs.  “Is this what you do to everyone you rescue, Cap?  Hold them hostage in a hospital bed?”

“Just the ones that are both severely injured and wanted by the federal government.”

“Great, so I’m just lucky enough to land smack dab in your venn diagram of asshole-ness,” Peter summarizes.

“Basically.”

“I’m not a criminal.”

“Well, you wear a mask, you assault civilians, you refuse to work with the police...”

“Alright, you don’t have to insult me,” Peter mutters.

“I’m not insulting you, I’m _describing_ you,” Captain America replies. “That’s all objectively true.”

“ _Assault_ is a little strong,” Peter insists.

“And you’re just a _kid._  And you’re seriously wounded,” Captain America continues.  “Do I need any more reasons not to let you just walk out the the door?”

“I’m not a _kid,_ ” Peter says for what feels like the hundredth time.  “And even if I _was,_ I’m not _your_ kid, so I’m not _your_ responsibility. You can go on thinking I’m a criminal if you want.  I don’t care.  But I was only in that lab trying to stop Octavius from blowing up the city.  You really want to turn me in for that?  Fine.”

Captain America sighs heavily.  He’s clearly thinking hard about this.

“...Alright,” he says with resignment after a long moment. “We won’t bring SHIELD into this if…” He pauses, giving Peter a stern look. “ _If_ you promise to stay here and not cause trouble until our doctors say you’re well enough to leave.”

“Peter opens his mouth, then closes it again. “No,” he says finally, shaking his head.  “I’ve been abused by your doctors enough, Rogers.  I’m through with it.  I’m fine.  I want to go _home._ ”

Another resigned sigh from Captain America. “Listen, son,” he says.  “Even if you were well enough...you’re not gonna make it back to the city at this hour very easily.  I’m _assuming_ you live in the city, since you still haven’t told me anything about you…”

“Hang on,” says Peter.  “We’re not in the city?  Wh...where _are_ we?  Where the hell did you bring me?”

“We’re in upstate New York,” Captain America replies.

“We’re _where?_ ”

“We brought you to our new facility,” Captain America tells him.  “This is where we’ve been running operations from for the past few months.”

“ _Why?_ ” Peter demands.  “What was wrong with the Avengers Tower?”

“We mostly just use it for public relations and social events now.”

“Is this _not_ a social event?” Peter groans, hardly able to believe this.

“Not really, no.”  

“Ugh.  Just...just let me go,” Peter huffs, tugging on the cuffs again.  “I’ll--I'll take a cab.  Or...uh...what’s the bus fare from here to Queens?”

“Queens?” Captain America repeats.  “You live in Queens?”

Peter glares at Captain America.  “No,” he lies.

Captain America shakes his head incredulously. “Kid.  Come on,” he says, looking very much like he’s trying to remain cool but Peter’s grinding his very last nerve.  Good. “We’ll give you a ride back to the city when you’re feeling a bit better.  For now, just agree to stay put and I’ll unlock those cuffs.  Deal?”

This isn’t fair.  But Peter can’t stay in these restraints a moment longer.

“F--fine.”

“It’s a deal?”

“Yes,” Peter sighs.

“Say you won’t try to run.”

“You won’t try to run.”

“Spider-Man…” Captain America says disapprovingly, leveling him with a look.

“FIne, fine!  I won’t--I won’t run!  Just--just let me out of these things! Please!”

“Okay, okay, hold still, son,” says Captain America, digging a key out of his pocket and beginning to unlock the restraints.  

Peter holds in a breath until Captain America unlocks all of the cuffs, then when he’s finally free he immediately jumps up, scampering up the wall and then at last letting out a breath of true relief.

“Whoa,” says Captain America, looking up at Peter on the wall.

“...Interesting,” says Wanda, tilting her head.

Peter rubs his wrists, which are sore from the restraints, feeling kind of self-conscious, but he had to get out of that bed.  He had to get away from the Avengers, out of their reach.  His whole body aches, his muscles are stiff, and moving his left arm is excruciating, but it’s worth it.

“You… Hang on.  You need to stay in bed,” Captain America tells him.

Peter shakes his head.  “Hate to break it to you, but that was _not_ part of the deal, Cap.”

“Only because I didn’t think I’d have to explicitly make you _staying off the walls_ part of the bargain,” Captain America replies dully.

“Guess that’s your loss then,” Peter says, shrugging.

“Son, please.  You need to rest.  Your body is still healing.”

Peter tries very hard to keep the pain he’s definitely feeling from showing on his face. “Huh.  That’s weird.  Didn’t realize you got your MD, Doctor Rogers.”

Captain America crosses his arms. “I _can_ get a doctor in here if that’ll make you feel better.”

“It won’t.”

“Come down off the wall or--”

“Or what?” Peter interrupts.  “Gonna throw your shield at me?”

“No, Wanda’s going to have to hypnotize you again.” Captain America glances at Wanda, then back at Peter, whose eyes widen.  

“Please don’t…” he begs.

“Come down,” Captain America repeats, looking very much like he is not fooling around. _Damn_ it.

“You _assholes,_ ” Peter groans.  He releases his grip on the wall, allowing himself to drop roughly onto the bed.  It hurts like hell on his sore muscles and healing wounds, and this time he doesn’t bother to hide his pain. “Ow,” he hisses, brushing his fingers over the bandages on his chest.

“That’s why you need rest,” Captain America tells him, looking all too vindicated as he picks up the blanket from the bed and just drops it on top of Peter. “So, stay.”

Peter frustratedly drops his head on the pillow behind him, glaring up at Captain America.  “Should I sit and roll over too?” he asks sarcastically.

“Just get some sleep, please,” says Captain America, not looking amused. “Watch him,” he tells Wanda, before strolling out of the room.

“I don’t need someone to watch me!” Peter calls after him.  “I’ll--I’ll stay!  I won’t run…” But Captain America has already left the hallway. Peter glances at Wanda, who is smoothing out the blanket on top of him.  Is she really planning on staying here with him?  Peter can’t think of a more uncomfortable way to try to sleep.

“I will just be over here,” Wanda assures, walking over to sit down in an armchair that’s on the other side of the room.

Peter narrows his eyes on her.  “Did you just read my mind?”

“No,” Wanda says.  But Peter’s not sure whether he really believes her. “You just look very...tense.”

“Maybe it’s the threat of hypnosis,” Peter grumbles, keeping his eyes on Wanda.  He _is_ definitely feeling extremely on edge, but it’s not _only_ because of Wanda. It’s this whole place.  It’s the fact that he’s being kept here against his will.  It’s what happened to him.  It’s...everything.  

“If you fear what you might encounter in your dreams, I can put you into a dreamless sleep if you want,” Wanda offers.

Peter huffs.  “Stop it,” he groans.  He’s never going to _want_ her messing with his mind and she should know that by now.

“...So that is a no?” Wanda asks.

Peter turns away from Wanda and pulls the blanket over his head so he doesn’t have to look at her.  “That’s a _hell no.”_

 

* * *

 

It takes two days before the Avengers’ doctors clear him to get out of bed by himself.  The moment they do, Peter immediately requests that he be allowed to take a shower. He needs to wash off the...Doc Ock stank.

And he kind of just needs a good place to curl up in a ball and cry.

The Avengers have an impressively shiny and high-tech bathroom.  Peter litters the floor with his bloody bandages as he peels them off of himself.

Most of his wounds are healed by this point.  The skin has grown back on his hand.  Most of the cuts and slices have closed up.  But on his left wrist, where there was once a spinneret, there’s now a mangled looking hole with stitches running through it.  The stitches have healed, but they run up the length of his arm, all the way to the crook of his elbow. With a good amount of trepidation, Peter presses his fingers into his palm, gently at first, then harder and harder until he bruises himself.

Nothing comes out.

Peter sucks in a breath, then grips the sink counter with shaking hands, trying very hard not to break it. This is his _own_ fault.  He did this to _himself_. He knew Doc Ock was dangerous, but he went down there anyway. And the city is safe now, so that’s all that matters.

Okay, he didn’t know the supervillain would decide to play mad scientist with Peter as his test subject… And he didn’t know the Avengers would try to “fix” him after they rescued him… But...it’s _fine_ . If that’s the price he has to pay for everyone in the city to live long and happy lives, never knowing New York was almost destroyed in a terrible explosion...then _fine._  He’s glad to pay it.

Peter looks up at his reflection in the mirror.  He runs a hand through the chop job Octavius did on his hair. If he thinks about it...in a certain way...he’s actually lucky.

He’s lucky to have escaped with nothing more than a few scars and a bad haircut.  He can definitely imagine a scenario where the Avengers took a few hours longer to get there, and he died on that lab table.  Or where Octavius did one more experiment on him and by the time the Avengers stopped him, they were just in time to find Peter’s dead body.  It was a close one for sure. They were so close to being too late…

Peter squeezes his eyes shut, suddenly hit with another wave of panic.  In his mind, he keeps getting sent back to that lab. He hasn’t had a moment of sleep without entering that nightmare.  And the nightmares bleed into his waking thoughts. He can be perfectly okay one moment, and then the next he’s vividly flashing back to the lab table. Like Wanda’s in his head again, making him relive it all over.  

Or he’s actually still there, and this is all just his imagination going crazy.

And even if it’s not, does it even matter?  Because in his mind, he’s still stuck there anyway.  He can’t escape.  He just wants to be the person that never lived through that, so he doesn’t have to remember it. The scars will heal.  His hair will grow back.  But he’ll never be that person again. That’s permanent.

No. _No._ This is real.  He’s fine. He’s okay.  He’s amazing.

The Avengers saved him.  Yippee.  Of course, he’ll never live down that particular humiliation...but on the other hand, he’s alive. That’s a win.  That’s another victory for the Avengers’ scrapbook.

They weren’t too late...right?


	8. Chapter 8

“Hold still.”

“Sorry,” Peter mutters.  He’s trying not to fidget, but that’s not easy to do when the Black Widow is standing behind him with a sharp object.  

“If you keep moving, I’m going to cut your ear off,” Natasha warns.

“I’m trying not to,” Peter says through clenched teeth.  He’s always sensitive to people touching him.  And even more so now after...what happened.

“If you don’t keep still, Wanda’s going to have to use her voodoo on you again,” Natasha replies.  Peter glances up at Wanda, who is watching him.  She waves.

“That’s not funny,” Peter mutters, tightening his grip on the bottom of the chair.  He hears the metal groan as his fingers leave dents in it.  Whoops.

“Then keep _still_ ,” Natasha repeats, putting her hands on either side of Peter’s head to adjust his position how she wants him. “I’m doing this for _you,_ you know.”

“That’s weird.  Because I distinctly remember telling you I _didn’t_ want you to do this,” Peter grumbles.  

“Well, the first rule in having a secret identity is not to inexplicably look like you lost a fight with Edward Scissorhands,” Natasha replies.

But Peter still had never agreed to this.  It was more like he had just stopped arguing with Natasha after she sat him down in a chair, draped a towel over his shoulders, and demanded that he hold still while she fixed his hair. He sighs.

“Edward Octopushands, more like,” he grunts. “And are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes, I know what I’m doing,” Natasha insists as she runs a comb through a lock of Peter’s hair a few times and holds it up between her fingers to snip the end off with her scissors.

“I’m just asking,” says Peter.  “Because between the martial arts and the marksmanship and the hacking, it seems like you have a lot of skills.  Didn’t know if you had room to add _haircutting_ to that list. Although I guess you have to make up for the fact that you don’t _actually_ have any spider-powers, right?  Like even though your name is Black Widow, and a black widow is a spider, you don’t really do anything spidery.  I mean I’m not trying to put you down or anything, it’s just--”

“Shut up,” Natasha tells him.  “Or I will stab you with these scissors.”

Peter shivers. “Uh...sorry.”

“And hold still,” Natasha repeats sternly, putting her hands on his head again.

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter mutters, tensing as Natasha snips off more of his hair. He sighs, and glances up at Captain America, who is leaning against the wall, not saying anything. “You’re watching her, right?” he asks. Even though Captain America has made it clear it’s _Peter_ he’s monitoring.

Captain America -- or _Steve_ , as he had asked Peter to call him -- gives Peter a look.

“There’s something we need to talk about,” he says.

“Uh, there is?” Peter questions nervously. “The way you say that makes me think we’re breaking up, except that we’re not even dating.  Well, not yet anyway...”

“We need to talk about _you_ , Spider-Man,” Steve continues, ignoring most of what Peter just said.  “And what it is you’re doing.”

“Uh, getting a haircut?” 

Steve shakes his head exasperatedly.  “No.  I mean what you’re doing with this superhero stuff.  I don’t think it’s working.”

“Really?  That’s funny.  I was going to say the same thing to you.”

“To me?” Steve repeats, his eyebrows going up again in surprise.

“To you and your crew,” Peter states. “...The Avengers,” he adds, when Steve just looks confused.

“You’ve got a problem with us?” Steve sounds like he definitely did not expect this.

“Well…” says Peter. “At the risk of having my ear cut off by the lady with the scissors...yes, I do.”

“Would you care to elaborate?” Steve questions, in a manner that says he’s probably only humoring Peter.

“Okay.  Well you got rid of Iron Man, so--”

“Stark quit,” Steve interrupts. “We didn’t get rid of him. There was some...ideological conflict between us.  But we--”

“Wow, okay.  I don’t need to know all the intricacies and minutiae of your team drama,” Peter says.  “I’m guessing creative differences comes with the territory of being part of the Mickey Mouse Club, but whatever.  I’m just saying.”

“I don’t see how it’s a problem.”

“Uh, because he was like the smartest guy on your team?” Peter says.  “I mean, no offense.  Tony Stark’s like a genius so I mean, that’s hard to compete with I guess.”

“Maybe we’re not all Tony Stark, but we’re not _idiots,”_ Steve says shortly.  “And we still have Rhodes, so I think we’re okay in the Iron Man department.”

“Alright.  Well, I’m just saying, maybe if you had someone who could put two and two together you’d have been able to figure out the guy with webs coming out of his arms was Spider-Man without _raping his brain,_ ” Peter mutters bitterly.  “And maybe you, I don’t know, _shouldn’t_ brain-rape people, by the way.  I think it’s kind of a shitty thing to do to a person.  But hey, what do I know?”

“Well...sorry,” Steve apologizes, but he doesn’t look that repentant.  Which just pisses Peter off more.

“Okay, I’m just getting started,” Peter continues.  “I mean, come on, you moved out of Manhattan?”

“Our facility up here is much better for our purposes,” Steve explains. “We have more space.”

“Oh great, so you live upstate where the air is cleaner and the cost of living is cheaper,” Peter responds dryly.  “Well, that’s nice for you, but not so nice for the fair people of New York whose lives are in danger every day.  As convenient as the suburbs might be for soccer moms and dads, it's not so convenient for superheroes to live a day-trip away from America's supervillain hotspot, is it?  I mean, you got the Avenger Signal going and you chuckleheads have to hop in the car and drive like two hours.  Oh, but first Black Widow's gotta pack you some snacks, right? Is that how it goes?"

“We have a jet,” Steve says blankly.

“That’s nice.  I have a metrocard.”

Steve scratches his head.  “You’ve really got something against us,” he remarks.

“No, I don’t,” Peter says, almost laughing.  “Were you not listening to me?  I have a _litany_ of things against you.”

“You know, we saved your _life,_ ” Steve reminds him.

“My _gracious_ heroes,” Peter replies sarcastically, thinking about how Steve had to be talked into rescuing him, and the treatment he had received afterward. Plus the fact that the Avengers had only come when it was almost too late for him. “Didn’t come in time to save my _hair_ though,” Peter adds.  Truthfully, that’s the _least_ of Peter’s worries, but he still makes a show of wincing as Natasha snips off more of his hair. “Aah, not so much off the top,” he complains.

“I have to make it even,” Natasha tells him, as she continues to cut more hair off.

Steve is watching him, his arms crossed. “Well, it’s not exactly our fault you were down there, son,” he says. “As I recall, you got yourself into that mess.  We didn’t even know about it until we got there.”

Peter huffs, blowing some stray hair trimmings away from his face. “Fine,” he says.  “It was all _my_ fault.  You want that in writing?”

“I’m just saying,” Steve continues.  “That you might want to rethink your strategies. Or one day you’re going to get captured by a supervillain and you _won’t_ be rescued because no one will know about it. You can joke all you want, but being a prisoner of war is no laughing matter.”

Peter glares up at Steve for a moment.    “What do you suggest then?”

“Stay here with us,” says Steve seriously. “Going solo is only going to get you hurt again.  There’s safety in numbers.”

Peter’s eyes widen.  “You...want me to join the _Avengers?_ ”  He doesn’t even know what to say to that.

“Well...no,” Steve replies. “I meant stay here as a trainee.  Perhaps we could call you a _reserve_ member.”  

“A _trainee?_ ” Peter repeats incredulously. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” 

Peter scoffs.  “Hell yes there’s something wrong with that,” he says. “I’ve been doing this for _three years._ I’m not a rookie for you to take under your wing.  I’m not some cub scout who still needs to learn all the tricks of the trade. Certainly not from _you_ people.  I was sticking to walls when you guys were still building your clubhouse.” He glances up at Wanda.  “I mean, how long has _she_ been doing this stuff, hm? I never even heard of her until a few months ago.  Was she a trainee first?  You make _her_ jump through the hoops to become an Avenger?”

“Well, no, but--” Steve starts to say, but Peter cuts him off.

“Didn’t think so,” he says. “If you’re not gonna take me seriously, then just forget it.  But I’m not gonna be your _trainee_ when I’ve got more experience than half of you “new Avengers.”  I’ve been Spider-Man since I was fifteen. And I’ve put more criminals away than probably all of you combined.  I don’t need to be _trained._ ”

“Hang on, you’ve been doing this since you were _fifteen?”_  Natasha asks, pausing as she sections more of Peter’s hair with her comb.

“Yes,” Peter mutters. “Three years.  So yeah, I’m good.  I _don’t_ need _training._ ”

“I think you do, Spider-Man,” Steve responds.

Peter rolls his eyes at him. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” Steve says. “Because you’re undisciplined first of all.  Headstrong. Stubborn.  Kind of like _me_ before I joined the military.”

“Weak burn, Rogers,” Peter says dully.

“But I wasn’t a hero then,” Steve continues. “I was just a kid looking for fights in back alleys.  Sound familiar?”

“No,” says Peter stubbornly.

“And if I hadn’t had someone backing me up,” Steve goes on, ignoring Peter. “I probably would have gotten into serious trouble.”

“Oh, but luckily you’ve _never_ gotten into serious trouble in your life,” says Peter sarcastically.  “I mean it’s not like you crashed in the ocean and were frozen for seventy years or anything.”

Steve gives him a look.  

“Sorry,” Peter adds.  “Too soon?”

“The point is,” says Steve with a sigh. “That you might be pretty good, kid.  You might win a lot of fights. More than I ever won before I became Captain America.  But you have a lot to learn as well.”

“Not from you,” Peter mutters.

“If not from us, then from who?” Steve asks.  “Because sure, you’ve been doing this for three years, but what you’re doing is not working. Sure, you’ve taken down a lot of criminals with your vigilante activities, but you’ve made a lot of mistakes too, from what I can tell.  The public can’t trust you.  You’ve made a hell of a lot of enemies.  I’m pretty sure you were wanted for murder at one point.”

Peter looks down, his eyes focusing on the hair clippings gathering on the floor.  He doesn’t say anything.

“You know what, son?” Captain America continues.  “I’d _like_ to give you a litany of the things you’re doing wrong, but I don’t know enough about what it is you’re doing to tell you that.”

“Good,” Peter mutters.  “I prefer it that way.  I don’t need you nosy people all up in my business.”

Steve sighs.  “Well, maybe you can still be a reserve member.”

“I still have more experience than most of you.”

“Maybe so,” Steve allows.  “But being an Avenger isn’t just about being a good superhero.  It’s about being a good team.”

“Whatever,” says Peter, rolling his eyes again. “I’m not much a team player anyway.  Thanks but no thanks.”

“You might want to consider rethinking that strategy,” Steve warns.  “Let me remind you: we pulled _you_ out of the bottom of the ocean too.”

Peter says nothing, watching a lock of his hair fall to the floor. After a moment, Captain America pushes off the wall and leaves the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yoooo please leave a comment if you like this story. Or hate it. Or none of the above.


	9. Chapter 9

“You’re late.”

Awesome.  Peter hasn’t even gotten a foot through the door of Jameson’s office yet and he’s _already_ getting criticism from his boss.

“Uh, yeah...well, better late than pregnant,” he quips, hedging his way through the door.

Jameson just scowls at him and sits down at his desk.  

“Okay, well...I got the pics.”  Peter digs in his backpack for his flashdrive. “That’s what matters, right?”

“Wrong,” Jameson grunts.  “There’s a little thing in the world of business called _professionalism_ , of which you have _none._ You’re very lucky you still have a job, Parker. You can’t just show up late all the time and expect everything to work out.  Especially after how you completely disappeared on me a couple months back…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” says Peter dismissively, waving his hand. He doesn’t want to think about that right now.

“Well, let’s see the pictures,” Jameson huffs.

Peter hands over the flashdrive.  Jameson plugs it into the port of his computer and clicks on the pictures.  

“What is this shit?” Jameson squints at his computer screen.  

“It’s Spider-Man fighting Electro,” Peter explains, leaning over the edge of Jameson’s desk so he can look at the pictures on the screen.  “Electro was tearing up Queens, and Spider-Man--”

“Stop.  I don’t care about a piss-fight between some thug and that wallcrawling freak.  There was an explosion at the Sokovia Accords signing in Vienna, and you expect me to print pictures of Spider-Man slapping around Mr. Sparkles?”

“Well, I wasn’t in Vienna,” says Peter slowly.  “I was in Queens…”

“Too bad,” Jameson replies. “I’m not paying for these.”

“Sir, if you wanted pictures of the signing, you could have sent me to Vienna... But how was I supposed to--”

“It’s your job to go where the action is.  I didn’t send you to Queens.”

“I _live_ in Queens.”

“Sounds like you’re just being lazy then.”

“But sir--” Peter starts to say, but Jameson interrupts him.

“Wait!” he says.  “What’s this?” Peter’s stomach drops as Jameson enlarges one of the pictures. He really should have deleted that one.

“It’s uh, Spider-Man’s getting hit by the Electro’s blast and uh, thrown into a dumpster…”

“I love it!” Jameson announces.  “I’ve got it. How’s this for a title?  New York’s Hero, Electro, Takes out the Trash.”

“It’s great,” Peter mutters as he rubs the still-healing burns on his ribs where Electro had electrocuted him.  “But Mr. Jameson, that’s not exactly what happened--”

“What are you talking about?” Jameson demands. “There’s photographic evidence right in front of me.”

Yeah, but--”

“You’re just the photographer, Parker,” Jameson tells him.  “You just worry about taking pictures and leave writing the headlines to me.  If I say this Electro fellow’s a hero for pummeling that webheaded menace, then he is, alright?”

“He got sent to prison,” Peter states weakly.

“So he’s a _misunderstood_ hero,” Jameson says.  “Happens all the time.”

“Yeah...it does.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Jameson replies.

“As long as we’re also on the same page of your checkbook,” Peter adds. He _seriously_ needs money.

“Right, right,” says Jameson. “I’ll give you fifty for them.”

“Fifty?” Peter repeats wearily.  

“Well I can’t use them for the front page.  I’ve gotta print all that crap about the Sokovia Accords.”

“Mr. Jameson…please,” Peter begs.  “I--I need to pay my rent. My aunt is sick... _please_.”

“Does this look like a charity to you, Parker?” Jameson snaps. Then he sighs.  “Fine. A hundred,” he concedes. “But only because I love that shot of the wallcrawler humiliating himself.”

“I love it too,” says Peter, and just tries to resist the urge to web Jameson’s mustache to the ceiling while his boss writes him a check.

Ten minutes later, Peter is swinging through Manhattan.  The cool (albeit not exactly clean) air of the city is exactly what he needs to clear his mind when the subject of the Avengers comes up and makes him see red.  He’s not exactly sure what they’re doing in Vienna or what exactly the deal is with this Accords thing, but he knows enough to know that he wants to stay as far away from _them_ and _it_ as possible.

That’s a straight up Hot Mess.  And Peter has enough Hot Messes of his own to deal with, thank you very much.

He flips around in the air.  Now he has to use one hand to shoot webs and the other to swing, thanks to Doc Ock (with special guest appearances from the Avengers’ surgeons).  But the worst part of losing a spinneret is not the inconvenience.

The worst part is the constant reminder of what happened.  As if he needs a _physical_ reminder every time he looks at his wrists.  Every time he goes web-swinging -- something that _used_ to bring him joy.  He already has the _mental_ reminders.  The dreams. The flashbacks.  Hearing Doc Ock’s voice in his head… Sometimes he still feels so trapped in it he wonders whether he’s still really there and these past couple of months have just been an elaborate fever dream.

_“You’re losing the ability to discern dreams from reality.  There’s a word for that, you know. Schizophrenia.”_

Peter’s stomach flips as he starts to plummet toward the street.  His hand stretches up to shoot a web but nothing comes out. Shit shit shit.   _Wrong hand, you idiot._

He fumbles to catch himself on the side of the building. His heart is pounding and his fingers tremble as they cling to the glass window.  He looks down. He only had about fifteen feet left to fall before he splattered on the pavement.

Close one.

Peter shakes his head.  If only his brain was like an etch-a-sketch and shaking it would erase what’s inside. But that’s not how it works.  So there’s only one thing to do.

Peter jumps up and swings away to take his anger out on some well-deserving muggers. With his fists.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, Mr. Parker.”

Peter stops dead in his tracks when he opens the door to his apartment to find Tony Stark AKA Iron Man sitting on his beat up couch.

“What the hell?” Peter quickly closes the door before his neighbors see.

“We need to talk about what passes for décor in your apartment.  Hasn’t anyone ever told you putting up wanted posters in your sitting room is bad feng shui?”

Peter glances over at the wall on which he’s taped up some pages from the Bugle where his photos were printed. Unfortunately the headlines underneath them read stuff like “Spider-Menace Suspected of Burglary.” It’s not _exactly_ ideal.

“I’m a photographer,” Peter says defensively, then shakes his head. What’s happening?  Why is Iron Man in his apartment? “How did you get in here?” he demands.

“Picked the lock. Figured you’d rather I wait inside than stand out in the hallway and draw a crowd.”

Peter keeps his eyes on Stark.  “Yeah...thanks,” he says dryly. “Except that your sports car is parked outside.” It had definitely bewildered him to see a luxury vehicle parked on the street in this neighborhood.  He just hadn’t known it was _Iron Man’s_ luxury vehicle.

“Right.  Thanks for reminding me.  We’d better get going before I have to feed the meter again.” Stark stands up  

“What?” Peter takes a step back.  “Me? You want _me_ to go with you?  Why are you _here?_  Why did you break into my apartment? _”_

Stark rolls his eyes.  “Kay, you can cut the act, Spidey.  We both know you spend most of your time running around in your red and blue underwear.  No need to act _shy_ now.”

Peter swallows. Shit.  

“I...dont...I’m--I’m not--I’m not Spider-Man…?” he tries, but Stark clearly isn’t buying it.  He’s shaking his head slowly.

“Stop. Please, just stop.  You’re embarrassing yourself.  It’s sad. Really sad.”

Peter huffs, and drops his backpack on the floor.   “Okay. Fine. Who told you? Was it Cap?”

Stark raises his eyebrows.  “Wait, hang on. Rogers knows?”

“Yes,” says Peter frustratedly.

“How?”

Peter rubs his wrist.  “It’s...a long story. Anyway.  What do you want from me?”

“Your help,” Stark replies quickly.  “I’ll explain on the way. You do have a passport, right?”

“Passport?” Peter repeats.  “No. No. I don’t even have a driver’s license.”

“Jeez.  How old are you?”

“I’m--” Peter sighs.  “I’m old enough to drive.  I just don’t have a car,” he mutters, avoiding the question. “What do you need my help with and why do I need a passport?”

“Because I need to take you with me to Germany.  Don’t worry about the passport thing, though. We can work around that.”

“What’s in Germany?”

“Well, a lot of things.  It’s a big country. But specifically?  Captain America and his team. I’m supposed to bring them in.  Was hoping you could help me web them up.” Stark rubs his eye, which has a painful looking bruise under it.

“Bring them in?” Peter tilts his head.  “You...you mean arrest them? You’re trying to arrest Captain America???  Hang on…” Peter pauses, narrowing his eyes on Stark. “Does this have something to do with the explosion at the Sokovia Accords signing?”

“Oh, you know about that?” Stark asks, scratching his head.

“I do work for the media,” Peter says dully.

“Right.  Well, when we arrest Cap’s team, I don’t want to see you shutterbugging the whole thing,” Stark replies.

Peter shakes his head.  “I’m not going with you.”

“Uh, yeah you are.”

“Why do you have to arrest them?  They won’t sign the Accords?” Peter guesses.

“Bingo,” says Stark.

“And why _me,_ anyway?  In case you didn’t notice I’m not exactly buddy-buddy with the government either.” Peter sends a pointed look over at the Daily Bugle pages on the wall.

“I noticed. But you’re kinda my only hope here.  Now, come on, underoos. I need you.”

“Boo hoo,” Peter says sarcastically.  “That’s too bad. Because there’s absolutely no way I’m going with you all the way to Germany to help you arrest the Avengers because they won’t sign a stupid piece of paper.  There’s nothing you can say that will make me do that.”

“I’ll pay you.”

Now...hang on. That’s an intriguing idea. Peter pauses.  

“Uh...did I say _nothing?_  I meant...well...how much?”

Stark looks around Peter’s apartment, clearly taking in the shabby state of the place.

“Uh, well, you’re obviously not a millionaire, so I’m willing to bet you’ll do it for fifty-thousand.”

“ _Fifty-thousand?_ ” Peter repeats, his mouth falling open. “ _Dollars?_ ”

Stark just rolls his eyes again.  “So is that a yes?”

Peter doesn’t say anything for a moment.  This is a tough one.

On the one hand: fifty-thousand dollars.  Fifty-thousand smackeroonies. That could pay his college tuition for the next year.  He wouldn’t have to worry about rent for a long time. He could help Aunt May pay her medical bills. He could quit his job and tell JJ to kiss his ass… Alright, maybe he couldn’t do _all_ of those things with fifty grand, but he could definitely do some of them. _Or_ he could buy like...50,000 cheeseburgers…

But on the other hand: from the little he knows about the Accords, he doesn’t support it.  Peter’s definitely not signing anything that makes him register with the government. No way.

But on the other _other_ hand…(if he had three hands): he’s still pissed at Cap and the rest of the Avengers.  He’d be lying to himself if he said he’s not tempted to help Stark arrest them. It’s like...payback for all the shit they did to him a few months back.  Screwing with his brain and digging in his memories and messing with his body while he was unconscious…

But…

Peter closes his mouth.  “I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I can’t help you.”

As much as he wants to...as much as he really, _really_ wants that fifty thousand dollars...it’s not right.  He doesn’t want payback. He doesn’t want to arrest heroes. He doesn’t want to force people to register. That’s not what his powers are for.

Stark looks shocked.  “Wrong answer.”

Peter shrugs.  “Guess I don’t win the prize money then.”

“Kid, listen.  I gave you a chance, but--”

“You can’t _make_ me help you,” Peter points out.

“No, but this is your only chance to get on the winning side of this,” Stark warns.  “If you help me bring in Cap’s team, I can help keep the government off your back. We can register you confidentially.  You won’t have to come out of the proverbial spider-closet.”

Peter stares at Stark.  “And if I _don’t_ help you?”

“Well, then I guess we’ll be bringing _you_ in pretty soon,” Stark replies, crossing his arms. “Unless you’re planning to register.  But without my help, good luck keeping the secret identity. You can say goodbye to the mask, Spider-Man.”

Peter doesn’t respond.  He just keeps his eyes on Stark.

“Unless you change your mind,” Stark adds.  “Fifty-grand is still on the table, by the way.”

“Get out,” says Peter, opening the door. Stark doesn’t move.

“Kid, you’re making a stupid mistake.”

“Get out,” Peter repeats. “This is my apartment.  Get out.”

Stark huffs, moving towards the door. “You can hardly even call this place an apartment.”

“Call it whatever you want, just get out,” says Peter, lightly shoving Stark out into the hallway.  “And forget my address.” He closes the door. Then locks it. Then leans against it.

Jeez.  Maybe the Avengers _were_ right to kick Iron Man off their Little League team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, obviously this wasn't the original plan for this story, since i started writing this before civil war came out, but here we go i guess 
> 
> also i'm really sorry to everyone that wanted tony to come to peter's rescue....this just aint one of those kind of fanfics lol 
> 
> anyway, thanks so much for all the comments!!! i love them all. especially the ones that contain angry yelling.
> 
> (ps i'm looking for a beta reader...if you're interested pls comment or send me a message or whatever. obviously i'd be willing to swap stories if you want)


	10. Chapter 10

“Oh god... _please_ tell me you’re just a very convincing Captain America impersonator here to deliver a singing telegram.”

Steve’s lip twitches almost imperceptibly.  “I’m afraid not.”

Peter stares at Steve for a long moment.  He’s not sure what he expected to follow after a knock on his apartment door five minutes after midnight. But he didn’t expect Steve Rogers.

“Well...I don’t want to buy any girl scout cookies.”

This time Steve doesn’t react to his joke at all.  “Can I come in?”

 _NO_ is what Peter wants to say.  But instead of slamming the door in Steve’s face, he finds himself stepping aside to let the Avenger into his apartment.  The second Avenger to enter his apartment in less than a week. Maybe he should get a doormat that says _Avengers not welcome._

Numbly, Peter closes the door behind him, then turns to glance at Steve, who is slowly looking around Peter’s tiny studio apartment. Peter crosses his arms, waiting for Steve to say something, but he’s just looking around.

Well, at least he’s not commenting on how shitty Peter’s apartment is, like Stark did.

“So...how many Avengers should I expect to see at my door on a weekly basis?” Peter asks.  “I’d like to get a headcount. Just so I know how many “welcome to Queens” gift baskets to buy.”

At that, Steve turns his head.  “Who else was here?”

“Stark.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “What did he say?”

“That he needed me.  To help him arrest you.”

Steve nods.  “What did _you_ say?”

“To get lost.”

Steve looks relieved to hear that, which pisses Peter off in a way he can’t quite explain.

“Not because… It had nothing to do with _you,_ ” Peter asserts quickly. “Just… It was the principle of the thing, alright?  I have standards. I might not live in a frickin mansion like the rest of you, but that doesn’t mean I can be bought--”

“He offered you money?” Steve cuts in.

“I don’t want to think about it,” Peter groans. His stomach feels sick when he thinks about how much easier that money would have made his life.  Like the cheap cup ramen he ate for dinner is trying to come back up his esophagus just to taunt him. “I guess Stark didn’t manage to arrest you, huh?”

Steve shakes his head. “No.  But some of my teammates were captured. They stood by me and they paid for it. I have to break them out of the Raft. But...it’s not going to be easy.  I can’t do it alone.”

Peter lifts an eyebrow.  “They’re in the Raft?”

“Yes.  It’s a prison in the Atlantic.  The government created it to detain people with powers.”

“I know what it is.” It’s likely where Electro was sent. And now Peter’s starting to realize _why_ Steve is here. It makes sense now.

And now Peter’s starting to feel sick for an entirely different reason.

The Avengers were divided.  Which means they’re all either in prison or have signed the Accords.  So the only person Cap can ask for help is…him.

Aw, shit.

“I’ve got the coordinates for the Raft,” Steve says.  “And I have a ride.”

Seriously?  Where does this guy get off thinking Peter’s going to help him? Why would he risk his own freedom to help Captain America and his allies? After what they did to him, why should he?  What makes Steve think he can just show up in the middle of the night and Peter’s going to drop everything to lend him a hand? He still has homework to do. He has class tomorrow. He needs to _sleep_.

Peter would have to be an idiot to help him.  He’d have to be insane. He’d have to be certifiably cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs...

And what’s more, Steve still hasn’t _said_ it.  He hasn’t actually _asked_ for Peter’s help.  

He doesn’t have to.

Peter lets out a long sigh.

“I’ll get my suit…” he finally mutters, dragging himself begrudgingly to his room to get changed.

 

* * *

 

Steve doesn’t suit up.  Peter keeps expecting that he will, but he doesn’t.  They’re at the Raft now… Well, they’re actually directly _above_ the Raft in a jet, but close enough.  And Steve is still wearing jeans and a cargo jacket.  So Peter has to ask.

“Did you get a new favorite color?”

“Huh?” says Steve, looking up at Peter.  

“You’re not wearing your suit.  So I’m just wondering if you decided you don’t like red, white, and blue anymore.  Is it _so_ last season?”

“That’s not exactly the problem.  You ready?”

Okay.  Obviously Steve doesn’t want to talk to him. Which is fine. It’s been mostly silent the whole ride anyway -- other than a few brief conversations between Steve and their pilot, a guy who used to work for SHIELD back before the helicarrier thing.

“Sure.”

The door of the jet opens and Peter looks out at the stormy sea, then down at the circular building which is their target.  Steve is readying himself to jump, so Peter gets into position as well. He glances over at Steve, suddenly noticing something else that’s off about him.  

“You’re not even gonna bring your shield?”

Steve shakes his head.  “I lost it,” he answers, before jumping out of the jet.

“Uh...what?” says Peter, confused, before jumping out after him.

Steve drops hard onto the roof of the Raft, rolls once, then jumps to his feet.  Peter sticks the landing a moment later, remaining in a crouch on the edge.

“How do you _lose_ a shield like that? Doesn’t it always come back to you?”

Even through the dark storm, Peter can see Steve press a finger to his lips.  “Shhh.”

“But--”

“Do you always _talk_ when you’re on a mission?” Steve hisses.

“Yes.  I’m known for that.”

Steve sighs through the darkness.

“Alright, fine, I’ll shut up.”

 

* * *

  


When Peter had imagined what it would be like to fight alongside Captain America, he had imagined an epic battle with some enemy that’s threatening the United States. Patriotic music playing.  And like... an American flag waving in the background.

He never imagined he’d be beating the shit out of US Marshals to break into a federal prison.  

It seems so counterintuitive.  But...maybe he’d misjudged Steve -- just as Steve had misjudged him.  

“Parker.  Come on.”

Peter drops the last unconscious guard to the floor, webbing him in place for good measure. “Don’t say my name,” he grumbles.

“Come on.”

Peter huffs, snatching a guard’s keypass from their vest as he follows after Cap.

The cellblock is dark.  Peter crawls through the shadows on the ceiling as they make their way in. Only four of the cells in this block are occupied -- by Wanda, Falcon, Hawkeye, and another guy Peter doesn’t recognize. Steve approaches Falcon’s cell first.  Falcon turns, grinning at Steve when he sees him.

“I’m not late, am I?” Steve asks.

“Right on time.” Falcon replies.

“You beat Stark’s ass?” Hawkeye calls.

Steve shakes his head. “Let’s not talk about that.”

“Can we talk about how you’re going to get these cells open then?” Hawkeye replies.

Peter takes that as his cue to drop from the ceiling and hold up the keypass he stole.  

“Tada.”

“Holy shit!” the random dude yelps, startled. “Is that Spider-Man?”

“Where the hell did Spider-Man come from?” Falcon demands as Peter unlocks Falcon’s cell door.  The door opens with a hiss.

“Well, when a spider and a man really, really love each other…” Peter replies dryly.

“Why did you bring him?” Hawkeye questions, glancing at Steve.

“Oh sure, bash the guy who literally holds the key to your freedom.” Peter waves the key in front of Hawkeye’s cell.  “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Falcon strolls out of his cell and grabs the key away from Peter.   Of course…Peter could have held onto it if he had wanted to…

“Screw you, Spidey.  We didn’t leave you on that lab table,” Falcon remarks, unlocking Hawkeye’s cell.

Peter crosses his arms.  “You weren’t even there.”

“Oh, I was there, kid,” Falcon assures him.  “I saw your little snot-nosed face when they dragged you out of there.  You’re like, what? Twelve?”

Peter’s face feels hot under his mask.

“What?  Spider-Man is twelve?” the random guy asks, poking his head out of his cell.  Meanwhile, Hawkeye goes to help Wanda with her restraints.

“I’m not twelve,” Peter groans, looking at the guy.  “And who even _are_ you?”

The guy looks offended.  “I’m Ant-Man.”

“Ant-Man?” Peter repeats, tilting his head.  “Do you have the powers of an ant?”

“Uh, no, I don’t have powers.  I have a suit.”

“Okay, where’s the suit?”

“Well, I don’t have it.”

“So you’re just a man.”

Ant-Man sighs.  “Yeah, okay, whatever.  I’m just a man…”

“If all our names have to be literal, shouldn’t you be Spider- _Infant?_ ”  Falcon comments, looking over at Peter.

Peter opens his mouth to respond to that, but at that moment his spider-sense buzzes in the back of his skull. Not good.

“Um,” he says.  “Cap? We gotta go.”

“What’s wrong?” Steve narrows his eyes on Peter.

“My--” Peter hurries to explain, but it’s too late. Alarms blare throughout the prison.  A door slams down from the ceiling in front of the entryway to the cellblock, locking them in.  Hawkeye and Wanda come running from the cell as everyone rushes to the door.

“Shit,” says Hawkeye, gripping the handle of the door and trying to lift it. “Rogers?”

Steve hurries over and gives the door his all, but it doesn’t budge.

“Stand back,” Wanda warns.  Everyone takes a step away as red energy flows from her fingertips to push against the door.  

Peter’s head is pounding.  This isn’t going to work.

“Real impressive light show,” he comments dryly.  

Hawkeye glares at him. “You got a better idea, webhead?”

“Better idea than trying to use superpowers to open a door of a prison they built to hold people with superpowers?  That’s tough to beat.”

Ant-Man scoffs. “Never met a lock I couldn’t crack.”

Peter stares at the door, trying to ignore the increasing pressure in his skull.  “Let me guess, you have the proportionate lock-picking abilities of an ant.”

“I’m saying every door has a way through,” Ant-Man huffs.

“Yeah, and through that door is an army of guards ready to stuff us all into the cells.  Is that what you want?”

“He’s right,” says Wanda.  “They are coming.”

Peter’s spider-sense is screaming at him now. They’re going to open the door.  And they’re gonna find Captain America without his shield, Hawkeye without his arrows, Falcon without his wings, and Ant-Man without his...ants.

This is gonna turn into a gun-fight.  And as far as Peter knows, he’s the only one who can dodge-bullets.

Peter webs the door shut.

“Hey, what the hell?” Ant-Man demands.

Peter ignores him.  There’s gotta be another way out of here.  He casts his eyes to the ceiling, spotting a vent. Aha.

He jumps up to the ceiling. “Okay.  Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’ll take care of this.  You guys stay here.” He yanks the grate off the vent and tosses it down.

“Wait, you’re just gonna clog up the door with your sticky stuff and leave us here?” Falcon sounds outraged.

“I’ll be back,” Peter assures him, peering into the vent. “Just gonna take care of the guards before they get through the door, bada bing, bada boom, whatever.”

“Bad idea,” Wanda warns.  “If they catch you--”

But Peter’s already crawling through the vent.

The vent is cramped.  And dark. And Peter has no idea where he’s going.  His bright idea is to use his spider-sense to guide him.  There’s a certain direction it’s telling him to avoid -- which is probably the direction of the guards...right? Which is where he wants to go.  So Peter ignores his spider-sense and heads that way.

He ends up in another cellblock.

Not where he meant to end up, but Peter crawls out of the vent and looks around for a moment anyway, trying to figure out where he needs to go.  Why did his spider-sense lead him _here_ of all places? There are dozens of cellblocks in this prison.  Why _this_ one?

“Hello, arachnid.”

Peter flinches at the voice, turning quickly towards the cell from which it came.  His eyes widen under his mask.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who offered to be my beta writer. I guess what I need more than a proofreader is people to talk to about writing because I get lonely and writing is hard. So if anyone wants to talk about writing and/or Spider-Man, hit me up at my tumblr: http://spidermenace.tumblr.com/
> 
> Also please leave a comment!!!!!!!! Seriously, I need comments to survive!!!!


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